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FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D, 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

/VVY3 


1?<Z4>W&4^ 


''O^Z- 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/inmemoOOfaga 


IN   MEMORIA 


OF  PlN.Vj^ 


>  MAR  ?6  1(VH  A 


5 


election  from  the  llocms 


ii 


FANNY    FAGAN 


["F."  and  "F.  F."] 


.4  jkmtr  so  $mall 
That  eljin  foot  might  crush  its  fragrant  life, 
Shall  in  the  magic  of  a  poet's  breath 
Sway  the  dulled  heart,  and  quicken  with  the  dream 
That  born  and  mingling  with  the  forest  bree~e 
Hid  with  cold  starlight  in  the  wild-fiower's  cup  — 
Till  poet's  icand  evoked  it  back  to  life. —  F. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  FOR  PRIVATE  DISTRIBUTION. 

1878. 


Not  where  I  would,  but  where  I  may  I  choose, 
For  things  that  Gratitude  can  never  make  ! 

These  better  things  my  heart  cantiot  refuse, 
I  treasure  deeply  for  pure  Friendship's  sake. 


TO 


THOSE  WHO    KNEW  AND  LOVED   HER, 

AS  A  REMEMBRANCE  OF   THE   WRITER, 
IS  DEDICATED. 


What  sJiall  I  say?   in  my  heart  words  are  springing 
Transcending  all  speech,  and  as  deep  as  the  sea  ; 

All  that  is  best  in  vie  breathes  in  my  singing, 
Binding  forever  your  spirits  to  me.  —  F. 


Be  not  an  ingrate  in  the  Realm  of  Thought, 

Which  girdles  all  below, — 
With  daily  wonders  in  thy  pathway  wrought, 

Wilt  thou  such  claim  forego? 

For  thee,   O  Heart,  that  distant  sunlight  falls, 

By  Heaven's  impartial  grace ; 
For  thee  lie  crumbled  all  the  granite  walls 

That  hide  fair  Nature' s  face . 

Sighs  unto  sorrow,  echoes  for  the  hills, 

But  deeper  thoughts  and  free 
Be  thine,   O  Heart  —  their  singing  else  fit  If  Is 

No  ministry  to  thee. — F. 


FANNY    FAGAN. 


^PO  those  who  were  well  acquainted  with  the  author  of  this 
volume,  but  little  that  is  new  to  them  can  now  be  told  — 
for  mere  poor  words  of  eulogy  seem  but  dimly  to  portray  the 
innate  goodness,  that  sincerity  and  graceful  tenderness  of 
character  that  combined  to  form  the  crown  of  a  noble  life  of 
true  womanliness.  How  warmly  her  friends  were  loved  ;  how 
cordial  were  her  sympathies  ;  how  ardently  she  felt  for  the 
cause  of  the  weak  and  the  oppressed,  let  her  life  as  well  as 
her  words  —  faint  echoes  of  it  —  speak. 

Fanny  Fagan  was  from  early  girlhood  a  constant  and  ear- 
nest student,  her  reading  covering  a  wide  range  in  English 
Literature.  But  more  especially  did  she  delight  in  studying 
and  analyzing  works  treating  upon  Theology,  Philosophy,  and 
the  Sciences  —  a  pleasurable  task  in  which  her  father  gave  his 
loving  guidance.  Only,  however,  to  those,  who  with  sympa- 
thetic magnetism  could  draw  aside  the  curtain  of  her  quiet 
reserve,  were  unfolded  the  marked  depth  of  thought,  and  the 
varied  extent  of  her  information.  Through  all  her  religious 
views  ran  that  liberality  of  feeling,  and  the  broad  toleration 

"  which  comes  with  knowledge." 

I*  v 


VI  BIOGRAPHIC   SKETCH. 

When  the  Civil  war  burst  upon  the  country,  and  thousands 
of  loyal  hearts  rushed  to  defend  the  Nation's  life,  not  one 
among  them  felt  more  overpoweringly  the  great  issues  at  stake 
than  did  the  subject  of  this  brief  memoir:  as,  with  so  many 
other  American  families,  her  kindred  in  the  old  Revolutionary 
days  had  done  their  utmost  with  open  hand  and  strong  arm 
to  succor  and  defend  the  cause  of  Independence  —  and  had 
cheerfully  borne  losses  of  property  and  personal  liberty  as 
a  resulting  consequence. 

Memories  of  those  olden  times  of  battle,  suffering,  and  pri- 
vation she  had  often  heard  related  in  the  home  circle  —  and 
her  heart  thrilled  responsive  to  those  recollections  of  the 
past,  when  the  guns  fired  on  Fort  Sumter  began  the  second 
war  for  Liberty.  "Ah!"  she  said  feelingly,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  "  if  I  could  only  march  with  those  gallant  men 
who  are  pressing  forward  to  defend  my  dear  country." 

In  her  own  earnest  words  — 


A  woman,  loving  Freedom  well, 
I  only  have  the  power  of  song  : 

Nor  wealth  nor  strength  to  aid  the  Right 
That  makes  a  struggling  Nation  free  ! 

The  Spirit  spoke :  "  If  on  thy  sight 
Shines  clear  the  light  of  Liberty, 

'Thrice  blest,  while  thousands  sink  with  doubt, 

What  means  this  sudden,  strange  distrust  ? 
Canst  fear  to  speak  the  message  out, 
Sent  straight  from  Heaven,  to  kindred  dust?' 


D IOG  RAPHIC   SKETCH.  Vll 

As  the  war  went  on,  and  the  tide  of  alternate  victory  and 
defeat  ebbed  and  flowed,  her  mind  seemed  a  barometer  of 
the  Nation's  hopes  and  fears,  but  firm  with  an  unfaltering 
trust  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  Union  arms.  When,  final- 
ly,Victory  came,  and  with  it  Freedom  was  achieved,  there  was 
a  woman's  heart  that  felt  "joy  unutterable  "  with  an  intensity 
that  only,  such  a  nature  can  feel. 

The  poetry  of  the  writer  has  been  published  anonymously, 
or  under  one  or  both  of  her  initials  ["  F."  and  "  F.  F."]. 
Two  small  volumes  of  poems  "  Something  new  for  my  Little 
Friends"  and  "Hymns  for  the  Sunday-School,"  were  so  is- 
sued, but  space  in  the  present  memorial  volume  will  only 
allow  that  portion  of  her  writings  to  be  published  which  is 
now  gathered  together  for  the  first  time  in  book  form. 

The  author's  fugitive  pieces  have  been  extensively  copied 
throughout  the  country,  many  finding  their  way  into  music 
books  and  other  works,  while  frequently  the  hymns  have  found 
quiet  resting-places  in  the  English  and  American  Hymnals 
of  the  various  denominations. 

For  two  or  three  years  preceding  Fanny  Fagan's  death,  her 
strength  had  gradually  failed,  and  she  perceiving  it,  had  antic- 
ipated death  might  come  to  her  by  the  slow  approaches  of 
consumption.  Not  that  death  was  feared ;  no  duty  was  neg- 
lected, no  study  interrupted,  but  in  her  writings  there  may  be 
perceived  that  pathos  which  thoughts  of  our  nearness  to  the 
Great  Hereafter  will  often  inspire. 

Early  in  January  1878,  and  on  the  eve  of  her  last  sickness, 
she  wrote  under  the  head  of  "  Sanctification,"  and  sent  for 


Vlll  D  IOGRAPH/C   SKETCH. 

publication,  in  the  columns  of  "  The  Christian  Register  "  of 
Boston,  the  following  lines  —  the  last  her  hand  ever  traced  — 
and  then  the  dear  mind  was  lost  in  the  delirium  of  sickness, 
so  soon  followed  by  her  sudden  death  on  the  early  morning 
of  January  30th.  The  words  seem  to  ring  with  that  ecstatic 
buoyancy  so  often  a  prelude  to  the  fatal  attacks  of  disease. 

I  cannot  look  upon  His  Face  and  live, 

Yet  the  dear  Lord  I  see  ; 
In  thought,  too  deep  for  m<5rtal  words  to  speak, 

He  dwelleth  here  in  me. 

I  cannot  look  upon  His  Face  and  live, 

So  faint  I  grow  and  weak  : 
Yet  by  His  life  I  live,  and  comfort  draw, 

Nor  other  help  I  seek. 

The  words  I  freely  speak  are  mine  no  more  ; 

His  presence  thrills  in  me  : 
Old  things  have  passed  away  ;  I  needs  must  soar 

And  sing  in  Liberty  ! 


CONTENTS. 


THOUGHTS  ANT)  FEELINGS. 

PAGE 

To  John  G.  Whittier 1  5 

Blessing  the  Crusaders *° 

Jerusalem 21 

Life's  Records 23 

A  Face 24 

Charlotte  Bronte      25 

The  Spirit  of  Beauty %7 

Dreaming 29 

Memories 32 

Sympathy ' 33 

Mary,  a  Sister  of  Charity 34 

The  Coral  Reef 36 

Thoughts  of  the  Night 37 

To  a  Cracked  Mirror 39 

Marshall's  Falls 4 1 

The  Day-King 42 

To  Nature 47 

Music 49 

Dreamland 52 

'Truth 55 

Washington 57 

Love's  First  Quarrel     . 59 

At  Laurel  Hill 6 1 

Written  on  Christmas  Day 64 

True  Fairies 65 

ix 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Courage 67 

"Words  are  Idle" 09 

A  Thought  Versified 72 

Love's  Equality 74 

On  the  Death  of  an  Infant 7" 

The  Haunted  House 7" 

In  Memory  of  Charles  Sumner 80 


"POEMS  OF  THE  WAR. 

The  Summons 83 

A  Voice  to  the  Nation 85 

Knight  of  Truth  and  Liberty 89 

The  Alarm-Bell 9 1 

In  Memory  of  the  Dead  of  the  Second  Louisiana  Regiment    ...  94 

"Let  there  be  Light" 95 

Waiting 98 

Angels  of  Mercy 99 

"Peace" lOO 

The  Land  of  the  Free 103 

Our  Patriot  Dead 105 

Freedom's  Martyr IOo 

Our  Soldiers  and  Sailors 108 

Welcome HO 

Gettysburg 112 

Fruition II4 


SONGS  OF  FREEDOM. 

"Break  every  Yoke" 121 

Right 1 23 

Riches •  I25 

The  Nation's  Manhood 1 26 

Freedom I2o 

Freedom's  Voice '3° 

Free  Men  at  Last *33 


COX  TEATS.  XI 


(POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

PAGE 

My  Spirit-Mother 1 37 

Father 1 39 

A  Wish I41 

Apostleship I42 

The  Higher  Law 143 

Faith 144 

Influence 145 

Angels 147 

My  Heritage 150 

The  Love  of  God 151 

Ode 152 

"And  He  that  Seeth  Me  Seeth  Him  that  Sent  Me" 154 

The  Widow's  Mite 1 55 

Bethesda 156 

Near  to  Us 1 57 

E very-day  Character 1 58 

Anchorage 1 59 

New  Forces 160 

My  Thought l6l 

Compensation 1 62 

The  Flowers  of  Hope  and  Trust 1 63 

The  Inner  Key 1 64 

"The  Grace  of  God" 1 66 

The  Invisibles  Render  us  Happier 1 69 

"  Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be" l"J2 

Human  Trust 1 74 

Spirit 1 76 

"God  is  Love" 1 77 

By  the  Hudson 1 78 

"Passed  in  Beauty" 1 79 

Spirit  Work 181 

Ideals •  1 82 

Unanswered 1 83 

"  All  is  Vanity" 1 85 


Xll  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Christ I°5 

Slowly 1 86 

Spheres ^"7 

Immortality 1 88 

"Lamp  of  the  Sanctuary" 189 

Stars 1 89 

Light  Ahead !9° 

Hereafter I91 

God  the  Uncreated *92 

Love  Evermore 193 

The  Grand,  Eternal  Now.  *94 

"The  Real  Presence" 195 

Revelation 19" 

Influx 197 

Progress '9° 

Our  Souls J99 

The  Hidden  Truth 200 

At  Sunset 201 

To  Lita 202 

The  Unseen  World 2°3 

Divine  Uses 2°4 

After  Rain 204 

Jesus 2°5 

True  Thought  and  Deed 2°7 

Spiritual  Life 20o 

Be  Strong,  O  Soul  ! 209 

My  Faith 211 

To  God  the  Father •  215 

Hymn  of  the  Children 217 

Hymn 2l8 

Friends  Left  Behind 219 

Life  Invisible 220 

To  a  Spirit 221 

The  Wishing  Gate 223 

Dying 224 


THOUGHTS  AND  FEELINGS. 




As  a  fair,  frail  dreain  of  beauty 

Rises  softly  over  sleep, 
Shimmering  silent  through  the  darkness, 

Where  sad  eyes  their  watching  keep, 

Bear  big  hope  to  hearts  that,  wasted, 
Could  not  feel  the  warmth  of  day, 

Touching  waiting  springs  of  being, 
Vibrant  to  a  seraph's  lay. 

So   Thought  and  Feeling,  'neath  the  covering 
Of  an  earth-grown  life  long  veiled, 

Shall  escape  to  air  and  beauty, 
By  angelic  watchers  hailed.  —  F. 


The  Poet's  life  is  twofold — all  the  rare 

And  beautiful,  with  lowly  things  he  claitus, 

And  to  the  ceaseless  music  in  his  soul 

He  sets  their  meaning — making  more  intense 

True  spiritual  power ; — then  wrapt  in  genius'  folds, 

In  a  deep  niche,  where  all  the  world  may  gaze, 

He  shrines  them  high  and  holy  evermore. — F. 


To  John  G.  Whittier. 


ON    READING    THE    PROEM    TO    HIS    POEMS. 


1LOVE  the  old,  melodious  lays," 
By  dreamy,  careless  poets  sung, 
Imaginings  of  blissful  days, 

When  Hope  was  fresh,  and  Fancy  young; 

A  subtile  sense  of  Beauty  steals 

Thro'  dusky  years  that  roll  between, 

No  weary  soul  its  care  reveals, 
To  mar  the  fresh  and  fairy  scene, 

Where,  floating  on  some  sheltered  lake, 
No  cloud  o'er  its  unruffled  blue, 

The  very  echoes  served  to  make 
A  fainter  music  stealing  through. 

15 


16  TO    JOHN    G.    WHITTIER. 

Ah  !   Poets  of  some  fairer  clime, 

Who  hid  the  world's  grief  under  flowers, 

And  flung  your  gauntlet  down  to  Time, 

And  claimed  these  distant  hearts  of  ours  — 

We  feel  your  grace,  the  soothing  charm 
Distilled  amid  the  woodlands  fair, 

And,  wrapt  in  some  poetic  calm, 

We  own  you  blest  —  we  name  you  rare. 

Enwrapt  in  beauty  evermore, 

Fair  children  of  a  golden  age, 
When   Faith  is  tried,  when  hearts  are  sore, 

We  wond'ring  sigh  —  and  shut  the  page. 

Then,  kindling  to  a  sudden  heat, 

These  hearts,  that  seemed  so  weak,  so  cold, 
Uplifting  to  our  stronger  feet, 

Speaks  one  true  Poet,  calm  and  bold ; 

No  soothing  flatt'rer,  bending  low 
Before  the  rulers  of  our  land  — 

His  soul  is  clean  —  God  made  it  so, 
His  messages  to  understand. 


TO    JOHN    G.    WHIT  TIER.  1"/ 

No  blazonry  of  courts  nor  kings 

Bring  laurels  gemmed  with  morning's  dew ; 
The  glory  hid  in  common  things, 

In  common  joys,  his  spirit  knew. 

He  speaks — grass  grows  where,  scathed  and  bare, 

Lay  buried  some  unspoken  grief; 
The  skies  consoling  aspects  wear, 

And  Love  and  Duty  drop  relief. 

He  speaks  —  the  lone  Pariah  turns, 

To  meet  a  brother's  pitying  gaze  — 
In  holy  wrath  the  wrong  he  burns, 

And  points  to  Nature's  tender  ways. 

His  Harp,  set  low  to  human  needs, 

The  Highest  swept  its  vibrant  wires; 
.The  clangor  of  men's  iron  creeds 
Beneath  its  benison  expires. 

Yes  !    Prophet  of  that  rugged  shore, 

Thick-strowed  with  blossoms  unto  Heaven, 

A  constant  friend  forevermore, 

To  thee  our  reverent  love  be  given  ! 
B 


Blessing  the  Crusaders. 

THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED    BY   THE    PICTURE    OF    "  PETER,   THE 
HERMIT,   BLESSING    THE    CRUSADERS." 


OH,  mirage  phantom  of  the  past, 
That  crazed  the  eager  sight, 
Then  faded  in  a  desert  vast, 

Amid  the  gloom  of   night  — 
What  madness  lured  the  passionate  crowd 

To  waste  their  thoughts  on  thee? 
Thou  Demon-tempter,  whisp'ring  loud 
Of  things  which  could  not  be? 

'Neath  banners  hands  unclasped  fronj  prayer, 

So  vainly  strove  to  bless, 
Swords  clashing  on  the  dreamy  air, 

Fraught  with  God's  tenderness ; 
With  souls,  that  by  still  fiercer  crime, 

Hoped  sanguine  for  release, 
They  rushed  —  in  mock'ry  of  that  time  — 

To  serve  the  Prince  of  Peace ! 

iS 


BLESSING    THE    CRUSADERS.  IQ 

J 


The  shadow  of  their  armor  cold 

Cast  blight  upon  the  flowers, 
And  chilled  the  germ  of  thoughts  that  fold 

A  nobler  life  than  ours ! 
The  radiant  virtues,  never  sought 

When  passions  wild  have  play, 
Neglected,  jewels  all  un wrought, 

Tho'  'round  their  feet  they  lay; 

And  for  the  humble  Cross  a  shrine, 

Where  countless  idols  poured 
Bright  visions  from  a  wealth-heaped  mine, 

When  votaries  adored. 
The  green  and  mystic  veil  that  spread 

This  hoary  earth  with  grace, 
Thro'  life-blood  of  uncounted  dead, 

Wore  a  deep,  guilty  trace ! 


Oh   scattered  Army  of  the  Good, 
That  wage  a  noiseless  strife, 

Ye  great  and  silent  multitude, 
That  guard  the  paths  of  Life ; 


20  BLESSING    THE    CRUSADERS. 

Unarmed  —  save  by  the  simple  shield 

Of  Trust,  that  all  inwrought 
With  power — when  steel  would  lose  the  field, 

Victorious  light  hath  caught. 

If  still  ye  lead  in  princely  dress, 

Or  toil  in  lowly  cot, 
Beloved,  or  in  a  lone  distress, 

Press  on,  and  falter  not ! 
If  Earth  hath,  in  some  generous  mood, 

Named  loud  her  champions  bold, 
Or  dying,  look  in  solitude, 

A  holier  blessing  told; 

If  trophies  of  a  victory  won 

O'er  selfish  pride  are  gained ; 
If,  at  the  setting  of  the  sun, 

No  bitter  scorn  hath  stained ; 
With  spirits  stronger  than  before, 

Press  towards  the  heavenly  goal, 
Where  Peace  shall  reign  forevermore, 

And  Glory  crown  the  whole  ! 


Jerusalem. 


OH,  waves  of  Time!   that  in  your  darkening  flow 
Swept  o'er  proud  temples,  built  against  the  skies, 
Strewed  with  white  memories  of  th'  undying  dead  — 
Roll  back,  and  let  your  buried  cities  rise  ! 

In  vain  the  cry!  but  sudden,  strangely  traced 
On  the  heart's  canvas,  by  an  unseen  hand, 

The  pictures  of  those  scenes  so  long  effaced, 
Transport  the  dreamer  to  a  distant  land  ! 

As,  looking  from  a  hill,  I  see  the  towers 
Of  proud  Jerusalem,  and  thro'  the  streets 

Life  with  its  pageants  and  mysterious  powers, 
The  ceaseless  miracle  again  repeats. 

And  as  a  sad  prophetic  glory  falls 

Thro'  the  deep  clouds  of  sunset,  o'er  its  pride, 
Melting  to  dreamland  all  within  those  walls, 

Where  the  clear  voice  of  Truth  was  so  denied  — 

21 


22  JERUSALEM. 


Yon  hoary  Mount  seems  quickened  by  the  foot 
Of  Him  who  wept  above  the  City's  fate, 

Those  passionate,  burning  tears,  that,  dropping  mute, 
Hallowed  the  ground  where  His  Disciples  sate. 

Tears  for  the  City  that  from  its  own  heart 
Bore  seeds  of  ruin  to  the  spoilers'  hand  — 

For  priceless  jewels  buried  'heath  the  mart, 
Or  poured  on  idols  of  that  fated  land. 

Tears    for    the    living   death,  whose    lurid    fire, 
Fed    by   its   victims,    cast    a   mocking   glare, 

And    shadows   deep    and    strong  —  an    unseen    pyre, 
Blighting    the    outward    glory   gathered    there. 

If    from    the    myriad    urns    that    mark    Time's    shore, 
The    buried   sorrows    that    for   centuries   slept 

Should    quicken    into    life    to    thrill    once    more, 
'T  would   shrink   before    the   pathos  —  Jesus  wept ! 


Life's  Records. 


IN   a   niche    of    Time's   gray   castle, 
Carved    out   with   wondrous   skill, 
Stands   a   statue,    on    it    written 

Records    of    thy  life-long  will. 
Trifles   seeming,    yet    they    gather, 

Silent,  almost    numberless, 
Till    they    mark    each    spotless    folding 

Of  the    statue's    mystic    dress. 
Records  of  the    thoughts    that    slumbered 

Quietly  within   thy  breast, 
Deeds    evoked    in    living   tracery, 

Carved    out    fairly   with    the    rest. 
With    each  word   of  heartfelt    pity 

For    another's  cruel    fate, 
Every   longing    aspiration 

To    be    true   and    nobly   great. 
If  the    poor    thou    hast   befriended, 

Or  with    brotherhood's    right    hand 
Led    the    erring    to    the    pathway 

Tending   to   a   purer    land, 

23 


24  LIFE'S   RECORDS. 

Though    around    thy    humble    forehead 

Glory's    light    hath    never    shone, 
Though    thy   spirit's    light    seems    wav'ring, 

With    new    courage    press    thou    on. 
Angel    hands    have    traced    the    record 

Of   thy    simple    word    and    deed, 
Angel    faces    bending    o'er    thee, 

Brighten    as   they  onward    read ! 


A  Face. 


1LOOK,    with   a   curious   sense   of  loss, 
To    my  outward    eye,    on    a   certain    face, 
For    under    its    beauty   surged    up    the    dross, 

And    the    rough  waves    told    on    its    light   and    grace. 

Malice    and    Hate,    like    two  slumbering   snakes, 

Lurked    out    from    their   covert.     The   beauty's  done; 

A   thing    of  the    past !     The    True    Soul    makes 
Best    radiance    for   me,  and    the    highest   one. 


Charlotte  Bronte. 


DEAD,  and  the  crowd  that  flattered  and  caressed  her, 
With  glance  as  bright  on  newer  idols  turned, 
Voices  unchanged,  nor  tears,  nor  mourning  vesture, 
Tread  the  same  places  where  her  genius  burned. 

But  eyes  that  only  viewed  through  earnest  story, 
Unnumbered  hearts  that  felt  the  stirring  power, 

Through  tears  that  turned  to  render  light  her  glory, 
Mourn  for  The  Gifted !     Brief  the  triumph  hour  ! 

No  costly  monument  is  raised  above  her, 
With  flatt'ring  record  of  a  thrilling  name  — 

Her  childhood's  grass  grows  there,  but  cannot  cover 
The  living  spirit  of  her  woman's  fame! 

No  dreamy  light  thro'  old  Italian  palace 

Revealed  soft  pictures  to  her  earnest  gaze  — 

The  Real  —  a  bitter  drop  within  the  chalice, 

And  the  mind's  magic  —  then  her  changeless  bays  ! 
3  25 


26  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

Like  a  rare  plant,   'neath  Heaven's  mysterious  keeping. 

Amid  the  stunted  trees  of  moorlands  gray, 
While  Nature  on  her  dreary  watch  was  sleeping, 

The  flowers,  unlooked  for,  blossomed  into  Day  ! 

May  the  low  chime  that  sounds  to  spirit-hearing, 

Ring  softly  in  a  requiem  for  her  soul, 
That  lived  and  listened,  when,  the  mystery  clearing, 

Revealed  her  portion  in  The  Wondrous  Whole. 

On  the  bleak  winds  that  swept  around  her  dwelling, 

The  inspiration  like  a  spirit  came, 
And,  while  her  heart  with  dull  unrest  was  swelling, 

Fused  its  rich  metal  in  a  living  flame. 

And  her  life's  genius,  waking  from  his  slumbers, 
Dropped  stars  of  thought  around  her  lowly  feet, 

Whisp'ring,  "  All  life  is  cast  in  mystic  numbers, 

Speak  thy  soul's  prompting,  make  thy  work  complete  !  " 

With  strong,  unquestioning  faith,  the  spell  upon  her, 
She  launched  her  vessel  on  the  world's  broad  sea, 

Rich  with  strange  treasures,  and  the  pilot,  Honor, 
Mooring  it  bravely  where  great  ships  should  be ! 


The  Spirit  of  Beauty. 


OH,    scheming    man,    thro'    blinding   folds 
Of  selfishness   and    care, 
Canst   see    the    wonders    Nature    holds 

Within    her   hands   so    fair? 
In    vain,   upon    some    mountain    height, 

With    misty   fields    below, 
And    sudden    breaks  of  golden    light 

That    shimmer    to   and    fro  — 
In   vain   thou   stand' st  —  the   soulless   gaze 

Sees  not    the    magic    thrown, 
Feels   not   the    glory  of  those   rays 

So    foreign   to   its   own. 

Not    in    the   mystic   depths   above, 

Nor   on    the   changing   sea, 
Dwelleth   the   spirit  of  thy  love, 

Oh,    Seeker,    wed    to   thee ; 
But    in   thine    inmost    heart — a   power 

Transforming   Earth    to    Heaven, 

27 


28  THE    S  P I R  IT    O  F   B  E  A  U  T  Y. 

The   poet   thought,  that    bounteous   dower 

To    earnest    natures   given. 
There,   in   unspotted   robes   of  peace, 

A   simple,  wond'rous    power, 
When   vainer   thoughts   the   soul    release, 

She    holds    her   charmed    hour. 

Oh,  narrow  heart,  that  holds  the  blighting  creed, 

"That  God  is  just,  and  human  nature  vile  !  " 
Ignoring  in  thy  thought  the  vital  seed, 

Untouched  by  kindly  sunshine  all  the  while. 
What,  though  the  garments  consecrate  to  faith 

Sweep  in  humility  the  altar  stair, 
And  lowly  prayers  the  meek  believer  saith 

Rise  with  thy  mockery  on  the  perfumed  air  ! 
Oh,  wear,  in  mem'ry  of  thy  own  deep  need, 

The  charm  of  Faith,  that  will  not  be  o'erthrown, 
And  lo  !   the  beautiful  in  thought  and  deed, 

Evoked  by  good,  shall  spring  to  meet  thine  own  ! 


Dreaming. 


IF,  thro'  the  beauty  of  the  starry  skies, 
I  fondly  deem 
My  soul  grows  purer  'neath  a  spirit's  eyes, 
Still  let  me  dream. 


If  from  the  whirl  of  outer  life  I  turn, 

Where  deep  and  strange 
The  secrets  of  a  grander  realm  may  burn, 

I  would  not  change  ! 

Enfolded  'neath  the  mist  of  dreaming  eyes, 

May  visions  rest, 
Dropped  by  an  angel  flitting  thro'  the  skies 

With  tokens  blest. 

If,  through  the  sunlit  arches  of  the  wood, 

A  deeper  theme 
Than  loftiest  church  may  teach  awakes  to  good, 

I  still  would  dream  ! 
3*  29 


3<D  DREAMING. 


Still  to  that  peopled  solitude,  where  dreams 

Are  links  to  heaven  — 
Where    Thought    flies    towards    all    Truth    that    brightly 
gleams, 

My  heart  is  given. 

The  wond'rous  meaning  folded  'neath  the  flowers 

I  dimly  guess, 
And  the  veiled  beauty  of  the  twilight  hours 

That  strangely  bless. 

I  clasp  the  chalice,  to  whose  brim  may  rise 

A  waiting  gem, 
That,  viewed  by  weary,  unexpectant  eyes, 

Is  lost  to  them  ! 

I  dream  of  Heaven,  whose  glories  never  pale; 

A  deeper  glow 
Than  flits  athwart  dark  clouds,  that  quiv'ring  sail, 

Those  skies  shall  know. 

In  the  bright  shadow,  cast  by  lovelier  things 

Than  Earth  may  see, 
The  soul,  reflecting  all  the  joy  it  sings, 

Awakes  in  me. 


DREAMIXG. 


Still  may  I  dream,  while  varying  years  shall  flow 

As  waves,  which  swell 
O'er  hidden  memories,  that  sweet  and  low 

Their  meaning  tell. 

Still,  thro'  the  fields,  untenanted  and  green, 

Unchanged  and  free, 
My  soul  would  range,  with  bars  of  light  between 

Far  realms  and  me. 

Within  that  ancient,  hallowed,  hermit  cell, 

The  Cave  of  Thought, 
Whose  ling'ring  echoes  to  the  seeker  tell 

What  Faith  once  wrought ; 

Where  the  gray  moss,  entwined  with  blooming  flowers, 

Bent  knees  have  pressed, 
All  Nature  thrilling  to  the  sun  and  showers, 

I  still  would  rest. 

Far  in  my  dreaming  from  the  restless  throng, 

That  wakes  to  pain, 
On  th'  exultant  wings  of  hope  and  song 

I  rise  again. 


32  MEMORIES. 


Yon  grand,  o'ershadowing  dome  I  cannot  reach  — 

Above  my  fate ; 
With  thoughts  that  may  not  pass  the  gates  of  speech, 

I  patient  wait  j 

Till,  from  a  darkened  room,  that  may  not  veil 

The  rising  day, 
This  spirit,  parting  from  a  sleeper  pale, 

Shall  wing  its  way  ! 


Memories. 


OLD  Time  once  reared  on  high  a  stately  palace, 
Glittering  with  rarest  spoils  of  land  and  sea; 
He  raised  in  triumph  high  his  star-gemmed  chalice  — 
"The  pride  of  Earth  in  bondage  bends  to  me." 

But  there  are  thoughts  that  play  like  living  moonbeams 
Across  the  unchecked  tide  of  memory  ; 

And  there  are  echoes  which  the  loving  heart  dreams 
Are  waked  by  spirits  in  Infinity. 

Time  has  ?w  power  to  crush  a  kindly  feeling  — 

Once  wakened  into  life  it  cannot  die; 
The  Future  beckons  ihee,  bright  joys  revealing, 

That  misty  float  between  the  earth  and  sky. 


Sympa  thy. 


WHO  shall  go  down  to  the  secret  Springs. 
Sweet  or  bitter,  this  strange  life  holds; 
Who  score  the  silent,  intangible  things, 
Blessing  or  bane,  that  our  spirit  folds  ! 

Folds  away  from  invading  eyes, 

Covered,  we  think,  till  the  Judgment  day. 
Straight  through  the  secrecy,  past  surprise, 

Reading,  a  stranger,  long  on  the  way, 

Meets  and  greets  —  Lo,  the  vail  is  gone ; 

Whose  quick  hand  raised  it  we  do  not  know. 
Or  was  it  an  insight,  strangely  born 

For  the  time  and  need?  let  us  call  it  so. 

Who  shall  go  down?     We  may  travel  far, 
The  world  may  listen,  give  plaudits,  the  end 

Has  come,  when  we  simply  are, 

Heart  to  heart,  in  the  love  of  a  friend. 

C  33 


Mary,1  a  Sister  of  Charity. 


STILL  let  the  organ  peal 
Solemn  death  wail, 
Unnoted  in  lustre, 

A  star  hath  grown  pale. 

Let  the  sad  music  float 

Through  the  dim  aisle, 
Where,  round  old  tracery, 

Hovers  morn's  smile. 

Reverently,  tenderly, 

Tread  round  the  bier, 
O'er  the  sad  garb  of  Death 

Drop  ye  a  tear. 

Though  the  wild  wreath  of  Fame 

Ne'er  pressed  that  brow, 
Though  the  loud  trumpet's  note 

Pealed  not  her  vow; 

1  Mary  Fagan,  the  author's  aunt,  a  Sister  of  Charity,  who  died 
at  New  Orleans,  183S,  while  tending  the  sick  and  dying,  during  the 
yellow  fever  pestilence. 

34 


MARY,   A    SISTER    OF   CHARITY.  35 

When  men  in  strength  and  power 

Shook  and  turned  pale, 
When  thro1*  the  darkened  rooms 

Came  the  low  wail  — 

With  face  so  calm  and  true 

Stood  she  alone, 
When  from  the  suff'rer's  bed 

Gay  friends  had  flown. 

Patience  and  Charity 

Dwelt  in  her  heart  — 
She    that  in  worldly  pride 

Ne'er  bore  a  part. 

Bright  with  the  radiance 

Of  faith  in  Heaven, 
Whisp'ring  forgiving  words 

To  the  sin-riven. 

Still  on  her  parted  lips 

Hovers  a  smile, 
And  a  low  requiem 

Floats  round  the  while. 

Crowned  with  the  waiting  crown 

In  realms  above, 
Her  voice  joins  the  holy  song  — 

"God  is  all  Love!  " 


The  Coral  Reef. 


\T7AS  it  the  strange  creation  of  a  day, 
*■'     Aided  by  magic  power,  that  rose  on  high, 
Parting  the  crested  waves  that  dashed  around  ? 
Behold  the  architects,  whose  patient  toil 
Hath  wrought  this  mighty  fabric  on  the  sea, 
And  gaze  with  wonder  on  the  curious  race 
That,  from  the  viewless  depths  of  Ocean,  reared, 
In  silent  strength,  a  lasting  monument, 
That  speaks  in  voiceless  eloquence  to  Man  ! 
Yes  !  unto  Man,  who  views  with  scornful  pride 
Nature's  untiring  servants  die  around, 
And  through  their  envious  works  hears  not  the  sound, 
Urging  a  warning  lesson  in  his  ear. 
To  him  who  to  the  clouds  already  sees 
The  lofty  spire  of  his  ambition  rise, 
How  toilsome  seems  the  laying  stone  on  stone, 
The  patient,  gradual  work  of   industry  ! 

36 


Thoughts  of  the  Night. 


THE  world's  asleep  ;  pray  heaven  their  thoughts  are  pure 
Who  vigils  keep; 
Storms  rising  when  the  slumb'rers  rest  secure 

Awake  the  deep  ! 
The  streets,  that  echoed  to  a  restless  throng, 

Are  silent,  bare  ; 
All  hushed  the  sounds  of  wrath,  and  life,  and  song, 
That  stirred  the  air. 

Above,  the  stars  shine  in  unchanging  light ; 

Ah,  young  and  fair, 
Their  beauty  deepens  on  the  solemn  night 

In  silence  rare ; 
Touching  the  realm  of  this  strange,  inner  life 

With  luminous  thought, 
That  soars  untrammelled  o'er  the  care  and  strife 

By  daylight  wrought. 

Oh,  jarring  creeds  and  doubting  hearts,  the  life 

Ye  vainly  seek 
Dwells  not  where  noonday's  garish  blaze  is  rife, 

And  faith  so  weak  ; 

4  37 


38  THOUGHTS    OF    THE    NIGHT. 

Earth's  grandest  altar-fires  seem  poor  and  cold, 

In  the  full  glow  j 
Free  spirits  for  a  deeper  life  enrolled, 

E'en  here  may  know  ! 

Oh,  Ruling  Spirit  of  the  Night,  no  need 

Of  vow  or  shrine 
To  consecrate  to  thee,  in  thought  and  deed, 

This  soul  of  mine  ! 
Exultant  over  time  and  space,  that  may  not  bind 

A  spirit  free, 
The  viewless  portals  for  whose  light  I  pined 

Unclose  for  me ; 
And  this  vague,  outer  life,  whose  shadows  steal 

O'er  things  most  fair, 
Floats  a  bright  curtain,  whose  strange  folds  reveal 

Joys  full  and  rare. 

Thou,  unto  whom  my  inmost  dreams  lie  bare, 

Nor  stain,  nor  sin 
Hath  power  to  hold  from  me  this  living  air, 

My  soul  breathes  in ; 
Weak,  yet  immortal,  shall  I  fear  the  power 

That  hath  given  mine  ? 
True  thoughts,  unuttered  prayers  born  of  this  hour, 

Are  Thine,  all  Thine  ! 


To  a  Cracked  Mirror. 


THOU  coldly  glitt'ring  thing,  whose  surface  clear, 
Made  each  reflection  with  a  look  sincere, 
I  view  awhile  thy  much  neglected  state, 
And  draw  a  moral  ere  it  be  too  late. 

Not  always  didst  thou  stand  forsaken  here, 
Save  when  some  lively  youth  of  scarce  a  year, 
The  chubby  darling  in  his  nurse's  arms, 
Gives  thee  a  blow,  or  wond'ring  views  his  charms. 

Once,  when  gay  notes  or  gliding  measure  fell, 
Where  Love  breathed  welcome  or  grief  sighed  farewell, 
Thou  philosophical  didst  keep  thy  place, 
Doing  strict  justice  to  each  form  and  face. 

Tripping  with  lightest  step  the  marble  floor, 
A  fair  girl  stops  to  read  thy  proffered  lore, 
Then  turns,  with  quickened  heart,  the  form  to  see 
Of  him  she  loves  reflected  true  in  thee. 

39 


40  TO    A    CRACKED    MIRROR. 

Or  Envy,  with  a  wav'ring,  doubtful  smile, 
Pauses  beside  thee,  musing  slow  the  while ; 
Anon,  with  stately  step,  the  Beauty  proud 
Passes  with  her  admiring,  flatt'ring  crowd. 

With  mincing  foot  and  mirth-provoking  air 
The  Coxcomb  pauses ;  for  his  beauties  rare 
Demand  a  stolen  glance,  Old  Sage,  at  thee, 
To  judge  if  both  of  you  in  thought  agree. 

There  stalks  the  Cynic,  casting  sneers  on  all 
Who  'neath  his  crooked  standard  chance  to  fall 
In  egotistic  pride  he  walks  apart, 
Save  when  a  theme  presents  to  point  his  dart. 

The  antiquated  Beau,  in  gay  attire, 

Seeming  of  nourishes  he  'd  never  tire, 

With  soft,  persuasive  manner  passes  by, 

With  kind  complacence  viewing  fair  forms  nigh. 

My  hurried  vision  's  fled  —  alone  with  thee, 
Wlio  hast  survived  the  young,  the  old,  the  free, 
I  stand,  awaking  from  my  varied  dream 
Of  changes  thou  and  I,  old  friend,  have  seen. 


MARSHALL'S  FALLS. 


LET  the  gay  laugh  upon  thy  lip  be  hushed, 
And  with  one  thought,  detached  from  the  gay  world, 
Come  thou  where  Nature  sits  enthron'd  Queen. 
'Tis  a  wild  spot,  where  the  dark,  aged  trees 
Hold  gloomy  state  'gainst  the  encroaching  Plough  — 
Where  gray  moss  gathers  'round  the  shapeless  rocks, 
Wreathing  itself  in  strange,  fantastic  shape; 
The  voice  of  rushing  water  meets  the  ear, 
And,  hurrying  downward  'twixt  those  parted  rocks, 
By  Nature  severed  in  her  secret  hour, 
Falls  the  dark  torrent  to  its  rocky  base.  — 
See,  where  the  crumbling  stone  hath  yielded  place 
To  the  rude  waterfall.     Tradition  saith, 
Ere  strange,  invading  feet  had  tracked  the  soil, 
The  dark-browed  Indian  hunter  fearless  crept 
Ad  own  yon  slipp'ry  ladder,  at  the  hour 
When  his  lips,  longing  for  the  cooling  draught, 
That  plashed  and  rippled  'neath  his  venturous  foot, 
He  came  to  taste  the  pure,  refreshing  draught. — 
No  more  his  arrowy  death-shaft  cleaves  its  way 
Unto  the  wild  deer's  heart  —  a  vague,  wild  strain, 
That,  strange  and  half-remembered,  haunts  the  soul  — 
The  Indian's  mem'ry  only  lingers  now! 

4*  4i 


The  Day-King. 


THE  purple  range  of  Heaven  is  lit  — 
A  King  hath  risen  to-day, 
With  glitt'ring  armor,  powerful  lance, 

To  sweep  all  foes  away. 
Cold,  dim-eyed  Twilight,  suppliant  pale, 

Clings  round  his  folds  of  state, 
Then  shrinks  mysteriously  away, 
As  sighing — "Late!   too  late!" 

From  out  yon  castle's  gloomy  shade, 

A  visionary  train, 
Betrayed  by  swords  with  arrowy  flash, 

Anon  shall  sweep  the  plain  ; 
And  gorgeous  banners  —  viewless  hands 

Have  flung  in  triumph  free  — 
Are  floating  in  transparent  folds, 

Far  as  the  glance  may  see. 


42 


THE   DA  Y-KING.  43 

Fantastic,  wond'rous  as  the  dreams 

That  mock  the  sleeping  brain, 
Those  standards  of  aerial  fields 

Illumine  Earth  again ; 
Their  waving  splendor  sheds  a  glow, 

Tinging  with  roseate  hue, 
The  sombre  mist  that  veils  the  land 

And  ocean's  quiv'ring  blue. 

And  gray,  old  forests,  young  perchance 

A  hundred  years  ago, 
Sigh  mournfully,  yet  lift  their  heads 

To  feel  the  fresh 'ning  glow  ; 
Through  trembling  branches,  silently 

The  mellowed  glories  fall, 
Where  fresh  young  flowers  entwine  in  sleep 

Round  Nature's  ruins  tall. 

As  spirit-echoes,  suddenly 

Transmuted  into  form, 
The  hills  stand  forth  in  melody, 

With  Nature's  instinct  warm  ; 
And  greenly  beautiful  their  crests   ' 

Are  luminous  with  gold, 
As  once  the  hills  of  Fairy-land 

Were  crowned  with  wealth  untold. 


44  THE    DAY-KING. 


Deep  valleys,  sleeping  passionless, 

Are  brimmed  with  happy  dreams, 
And  waken  to  their  silent  watch 

Where  yon  enchantment  gleams. 
The  phantoms  of  the  night  have  waved 

Their  shadowy  arms  in  vain, 
And  mourn  in  deep,  unfathomed  caves, 

The  Day-King's  coming  reign. 

And  rugged  piles,  that,  cold  and  dank, 

Stood  scowling  on  the  shore, 
Colossal  ghosts  of  drowned  men, 

Resolve  to  rocks  once  more. 
With  memories   and  mysteries, 

In  voiceless  caverns  deep, 
The  recognizing  Sea  hath  caught. 

The  glory  in  his  leap ; 

And  longing  eyes,  from  stately  ships, 

Have  hailed  the  blessed  light, 
That  softly  gilds  beloved  homes, 

Revealed  once  more  to  sight. 
Behind  the  bars  that  hide  thy  face, 

Oh,  grand,  mysterious  Sun, 
A  conqueror,  with  triumphant  glance, 

Looks  down  on  vict'ries  won. 


THE    DAY-KING.  45 

To  sleepless  eyes,  that  weary  turn 

While  stars  so  coldly  shine, 
No  turrets  by  magician  wrought     ■ 

Blaze  with  the  lights  of  thine. 
O'er  slumb'ring  cities,  where  the  eaves 

Are  dim  thro'  rising  mist, 
A  radiant  herald  from  thy  throne 

The  vapor-cloud  hath  kissed; 

And  Silence,  where  the  busy  hum 

At  eventide  swept  loud, 
Is  reigning,  transitory  queen, 

O'er  the  unconscious  crowd  ; 
While  Labor,  from  his  dreamless  bed, 

Glides  through  deserted  streets, 
With  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  cut, 

And  strong  and  deep  heart-beats. 

Like  deep'ning  rifts  of  poetry, 

That  part  all  clouds  in  twain, 
Revealing  to  the  inner  sense 

Lost  Paradise  again, 
The  gleaming  radiance  comes  and  goes, 

Touching  with  liberal  grace 
The  palace-dome  and  lowly  roof, 

Each  glad  and  dreary  place. 


46  THE    DAY-KING. 


True  veins  of  life,  that  gently  pulse 

Beyond  great  cities'   heat, 
The  fresh' ning  lanes  are  cool  with  dew, 

And  many  a  mossy  seat. 
A  mystic  glory,  dreaming  heart 

Hath  felt,  but  never  told, 
Turns  lowly  hedge  to  fairies'   dais, 

And  cottage  thatch  to  gold. 

Ah,   mortal  eyes,  ye  may  not  bear 

The  splendors  newly  born, 
The  King  hath  crowned,  with  tender  joy, 

His  promised  bride — The  Morn! 


Oh,  little  things,  that  make  us  grave  or  glad, 
The    common    things   of   this    my    every   day, 

Be  blest  to  me,  since,  whether  bright  or  sad, 
Your    impress    tells,   and  will    not    pass   away. 


To  Nature. 


DEAR  Nature  to  thy  waiting  heart 
Spreads  wide  her  strange,  unbounded  wealth. 
Responsive  to  its  call:     "Apart 

From  man  and  Mammon  share  my  health  — 
The  health  that  freshens  in  the  air, 

And  thrills  each  crystalled  blade  of  grass, 
That  flowers  in  vale,  on  hill-top  bare, 

Where  human  foot  may  rarely  pass. 
Come,  child  !    to  whom  my  spirit  yearns, 

As  mother  towards  her  latest-born, 
For  thee  my  greenwood  light  returns, 

Reject  it  not  in  blinded  scorn  !  " 

The  silent  mists,  that  come  and  go 

Like  dreams  in  Thought's  mysterious  range, 
Float  onward  to  the  anthem  low : 

"Exult!    all  Life  is  wondrous  change!  " 
They  break,  and  thro'   the  curtains  dim, 

A  glad,  bewild'ring  landscape  smiles, 
A  halo  round  yon  mountain's  rim, 

Rayed  out  from  far,  aerial  aisles ; 

47 


48  TO    NA  TUR  E. 


And  fragrant  hills  their  censers  swing, 
Upon  the  soft,  expectant  breeze  — 

Perchance  there  floats  a  seraph's  wing, 
O'er  silent  altars,  fresh  as  these  ! 

Yon  waving  shimmer,  where  the  gold 

Is  breaking  thro'   the  parted  sheaf, 
The  beauty-loving  eyes  behold 

Writ  on  the  woodland's  dreamy  leaf; 
The  whisp' rings  caught  by  forest  trees, 

From  Heaven's  overhanging  blue  — 
The  miracles  of  God  are  these, 

To  thrill  His  worshippers  anew ; 
And  echoing  voices  of  the  hills, 

As  from  a  shad'wy,  unseen  height, 
Seem  mingling  with  the  lowly  rills, 

Whose  music  makes  Earth  bright. 

To  thee,  oh,  Poet !   when  the  life 

That  thrills  thee  now  is  cold  or  weak," 
Like  happier  gleams  thro'  scenes  of  strife, 

Such  summer  days  may  speak  ! 
Within,  th'  immortal  life  which  claims 

This  outer  beauty  all  may  share ; 
Around,  a  deep'ning  light  that  shames 

The  tears  which  fell  with  olden  prayer. 


music.  49 


Blue  mountains,  strown  with  golden  dust, 
From  royal  Daylight's  parting  feet, 

Primeval  types  of  steadfast  trust, 
Uprise  a  grander  King  to  greet. 

And  that  dear  God,  whose  tender  care 

O'er  arches,  wood,  and  city  dim, 
Breathes  thro'  the  scene,  so  wond'rous  fair, 
To  draw  thy  spirit  unto  Him  ! 
Ephrata,  July  22,  1 86 1. 


Music. 


OH,  music,  what  mysterious  power 
Breathes  thro'  thy  faintest  chord, 
That  in  hushed,  list'ning  heart  the  tide 

Of  tenderness  is  poured? 
Perchance  thou  art  an  echo  lent 

From  purer  realms  on  high, 
To  thrill  each  longing  spirit  with 
Its  immortality. 
5  U 


50  MUSIC. 


Adown  the  inner  arches  deep 

Thy  murm'ring  voices  break, 
Dark  souls,  that  long  quaft  Lethe's  wave, 

Thy  living  summons  wake  ; 
As  though  the  lost  intelligence 

Claimed  kindred  part  with  thee. 
And  tarried  in  its  fearful  flight, 

Impelled  by  sympathy. 

Who  hath  not  felt  his  spirit  borne 

In  thoughts  half  joy,  half  pain, 
To  halcyon  days  of  long  ago, 

In  list'ning  to  thy  strain  ? 
For  soul  vibrateth  evermore 

To  memories  of  the  past, 
And  o'er  them,  as  a  soothing  spell, 

Thy  dreaminess  is  cast. 

It  almost  seemeth  we  can  hear 

The  wings  of  lost  beloved, 
Rustling  unto  thy  hallowed  strains 

In  harmony  above. 
Like  that  all-gorgeous  eastern  bird, 

Whose  wing  earth  ne'er  profaned, 
Thou  hoverest  o'er  the  stormy  world 

In  beauty  bright,  unstained. 


MUSIC.  51 


Thou  speak' st  in  tones  of  fervent  love  — 

Oh,  when  could  uttered  word 
Unseal  such  founts  of  tenderness, 

As  at  thy  call  are  stirred  ! 
How  oft,  in  stirring  clangor,  thou 

Dost  rouse  the  soul  to  might, 
When  speaking  in  thy  thunder-tones, 

For  God,  for  Man,  and  Right ! 

And,  when  the  sombre  robes  of  Grief 

Press  heavy  'gainst  the  heart, 
We  bow  around  the  loved  one's  bier, 

A  ministrant  thou  art ; 
Pouring,  in  solemn,  requiem  tones, 

Farewells  our  grief  denied, 
And  stealing,  as  a  holy  calm, 

O'er  those  who  weep  beside. 

Well  have  the  gifted  ones  of   earth, 

Who  swept  thy  living  lyre, 
Deemed  that  angelic  converse  then 

Had  lit  its  sacred  fire ; 
For  earth-born  feelings,  fading,  shrink 

To  deepest  nothingness, 
When  thou  dost  float,  in  triumph  notes, 

To  conquer  and  to  bless  ! 


Dreamland. 


ON  the  shore  of  realms  ideal, 
Power  unseen  hath  reared  for  me 
Spirit-halls,  which,  though  unreal, 
Still  my  chosen  home  must  be. 
There  are  dreamy,  plashing  fountains, 

Keeping  heart  and  mem'ry  green, 
Rosy  tints  from  grand  old  mountains, 
Faintly  flush  and  fade  between. 

At  a  magic  casement  standing, 

Floats  a  scene  of  Summer  still, 
Though  the  snow  enchanters,  banding, 

Cover  every  outer  hill ; 
And  a  music  never  ling'ring, 

When  the  soul  wears  old  and  gray, 
As  of  harp  'neath  angel  ring' ring, 

Softly  steals,  then  dies  away  ! 

Pictures,  rare  and  ever-changing, 
Hang  upon  those  magic  walls, 

Where  a  soft'ning  twilight,  ranging, 
Like  a  spirit  slowly  falls. 


52 


DREAMLAND.  53 


Pictures  that  the  poorest  lover, 
May  enchanted  claim  his  own, 

When  all  hopes  of  wealth  are  over, 
All  his  trusted  idols  flown  ; 

For  guests,  all  true  and  beautiful, 

That  cross  the  daily  way, 
A  keyless  warder,  dutiful, 

Entreateth  them  to  stay. 
Evil  things  —  forever  sighing, 

O'er  a  heaven-darkened  fate  — 
May  not  cross  the  threshold,  sighing 

For  the  good  they  idly  wait. 

But  with  joyous,  wild  outpouring, 

On  the  quiet  air  there  rise 
Birds  of  promise,  swiftly  soaring, 

Lost  in  happy,  cloudless  skies. 
If,  on  her  mysterious  mission, 

Sorrow  chanceth  at  the  gate, 
And  the  light  of  fields  elysian, 

Seemeth  shadowed  by  a  fate, 
With  reverence  never  rendered 

To  a  weak  and  carping  care, 
To  the  dowerless  queen  be  tendered, 

All  the  treasure  gathered  there  ! 
5* 


54  DREAMLAND. 


Dost  thou  say  my  spirit-mansion, 

In  far  realms  of  dreamland  raised, 
Seems  a  sickly,  vague  expansion, 

When  Earth's  palaces  are  praised? 
Better  dreams  than  eager  grasping 

At  the  mocking  fruit  that  burns 
Hearts  and  hands,  that,  vainly  clasping, 

Gain  but  ashes  in  return. 

Ah,  the  subtile  foe  stands  nearest 

To  the  guarded  palace  gate, 
And  the  music  which  thou  nearest, 

Cannot  charm  a  beggared  fate  ; 
And  purpled  light  'neath  canopies 

Grows  weary  to  the  gaze  — 
Bright  glory,  on  my  magic  trees, 

Turns  tender  through  the  haze. 

If  some  genii  of   rich  treasure, 

Heaped  in  silent  stealth,  should  rise, 
Off' ring  in  unbounded  measure, 

To  my  startled,  strange  surprise, 
It  could  never  touch  the  feeling 

That  hath  life  in  my  domain, 
Never  bring  the  visions  stealing 

On  this  changing  light  again. 


TR  U  TH.  5  5 


Ah,  the  world  may  vainly  proffer 
All  it  holds,  my  Home  of  Dreams 

'Tis  beyond  the  tempting  offer, 
Though  so  faint  and  far  it  seems. 


Truth. 


THERE  is  a  real  vitality  in  Truth 
Which  Error,  shudd'ring,  feels.    'T  is  flesh  and  blood, 
Sinew  and  spirit,  'gainst  a  skeleton, 
Whose  dry  bones  crack  beneath  the  weary  weight 
Of  specious  argument,  and  dazzling  trope, 
That  piled  to  meet  the  clouds,  in  clouds  are  lost. 

Truth  has  a  power  that  scathes  —  a  gentle  grace, 

That  drops  its  freshness  over  dying  hearts, 

To  warm  them  back  to  life.     The  unfathomed  sea 

Locks  not  such  costly  treasures  in  its  caves, 

As  shine  in  eyes  that  mirror  thee  alone. 

In  Death's  deep  silence,  and  the  busy  mart, 
Where  gold -heaps  fall  to  ashes  'neath  thy  touch, 


56  TRUTH. 


That  voice  is  heard ;  and  when  the  world  is  dumb, 
The  ghosts  of  good  and  great  do  walk  the  Earth, 
Called  from  their  quiet  graves  to  speak  again ; 
And  from  mysterious  clouds,  that  hide  the  shape 
Of  future  ages,  comes  the  solemn  cry : 
"We  hear!  " 

When  wasted  souls  that  faint. 

Turn  from  the  beaten  highway,  to  lie  down 

Under  green  trees,  whose  laden  branches  wave 

Articulate  with  meaning  to  their  ear, 

Thro'  the  cool  friendly  shadows,  those  dim  eyes 

Grow  brighter,  looking  on  great  worlds  of   thought, 

Which   telescopic  vision,  tho'  it  strain 

Till  the  fair  world  is  gray,  would  never  reach  ! 

Thou  Glory  of  the  Past !   thro'  misty  years 

The  light  is  falling,  and  shall  fall  for  aye. 

The  barren  rocks,  that  echoed  to  thy  call, 

Thick  strowed  with  seed  from  Heaven,  blossomed  straight 

Into  immortal  flowers — deep  oracles, 

Which  the  child's  heart  may  read,  that  evermore 

Bloom  'gainst  the  face  of  Sin,  and  Change,  and  Death  ! 


Washington. 


ON  one  fair  page  of  history, 
So  marred  by  tears  and  blood, 
Is  writ  the  thrilling  name  of  one 
Who  proud  and  spotless  stood. 
With  power  in  that  strong  right  hand 

To  mould  a  kingly  crown 
Or  wield  a  despot's  secret  sway, 
He  cast  all  guerdon  down  ! 

Oh  !    when  shall  hands  and  hearts  of  power 

React  that  dream  again, 
To  lay  their  gifts  at  Freedom's  feet, 

And  crown  her  Queen  of  Men? 
The  miracles  of  might  and  wrong, 

That  men  of  old  have  wrought, 
Grow  darker  in  the  radiant  light 

Of  his  unsullied  thought. 

Their  sceptres  stretched  from  sea  to  sea, 

And  blighted  where  they  fell, 
A  burning  sense  of  hate  and  wrong 

Foretold  their  coming  well ; 

57 


58  WASHINGTON. 


And  patriot  blood  as  water  flowed, 

To  hide  the  galling  shame, 
That  crushed  the  souls  of  stalwart  men, 

Weak  fear  could  never  tame. 

Their  iron  thrones,  with  ghastly  wrongs 

And  splendors  girt  about, 
Were  raised  above  a  nation's  throes, 

With  triumph  and  with  shout  j 
And  mingled  with  that  iron  clang, 

A  deep  despairing  cry, 
And  the  low  wail  of  breaking  hearts, 

Rose  solemnly  on  high. 

On  the  fair  fame  of  Washington 

Is  set  the  glorious  seal 
Of  truth,  that  scorned  the  dazzling  wrong 

That  other  lives  reveal. 
No  crown  of  gold  or  costly  gems 

E'er  pressed  that  noble  brow, 
To  freedom  and  to  honor  bared 

With  more  than  knighthood's  vow. 

The  sword,  that  flashed  in  battle's  front, 
Dropped  when  the  land  was  free, 

And  where  he  passed,  fair  children  played, 
Or  climbed  the  Victor's  knee. 


LOVE'S    FIRST    QUARREL.  59 

And  Peace  and  Plenty  strewed  the  ground, 

To  hide  the  stains  of  War, 
And  the  deep  forests  echoed  back 

Glad  shouts  and  songs  afar. 

The  simple  rites  by  loving  hearts 

And  reverent  hands  were  paid, 
With  viewless  trophies  hung  around, 

That  never  change  or  fade. 
No  need  of  glowing  epitaph 

To  mark  the  simple  spot 
Where  Washington  is  laid  to  rest, 

Forever  unforgot. 


Love's  First  Quarrel. 


PARTED  in  anger  !   we,  who  played  together, 
Careless  as  light  clouds  passing  o'er  the  sea, 
Whose  restless  feet  beat  time  upon  the  heather, 

Like  echoes  to  our  soul's  glad  minstrelsy ; 
We,  who  have  lisped  the  childish  prayer  at  even, 
With  clasping  hands,  before  the  village  shrine, 
Or  stood  in  twilight  shade  to  watch  the  heaven, 
Where  gath'ring  stars  in  modest  glory  shine; 


60  LO  VE  'S    FIRS  T    QUAR  R  E  L. 

Whose  souls  in  Friendship's  temple  met  and  mingled, 

As  thirsty  hill-tops  yearn  to  meet  the  showers, 
Till  love  crept  in,  the  topmost  arch  he  singled, 

And  noiseless  traced  two  names  —  those    names  were 
ours ! 
The  tender  cord,  wove  at  that  solemn  plighting, 

Unsevered,  bound  our  beings  into  one  — 
Thou  wert  the  sun-ray  shadowed  places  lighting, 

My  spirit's  garden,  whence  all  glad  thoughts  sprung. 

By  all  the  records  of  the  past  I  call  thee 

To  banish  pride  from  out  thy  love-lit  soul, 
Unwhispered  griefs  perchance  may  soon  befall  thee, 

And  round  thee  sorrow's  surging  billows  roll ; 
But  hearts  throned  in  one  spirit-throne  may  quiver 

With  a  strange  joy  to  meet  the  ills  of  life, 
And  calmly  float  down  Time's  quick  gliding  river, 

Whose  shores  re-echo  anarchy  and  strife. 
This  mocking  Earth  hath  many  a  tale  of  sorrow, 

Which  poet's  harp  in  melting  tones  may  tell, 
But  there  is  none  which  shades  the  bright  to-morrow 

As  when  fond  hearts  in  coldness  breathe  farewell ! 
Then  let  all  shadows  vanish  'neath  the  sunbeam, 

Lighting  again  a  deep,  undying  flame, 
Be  this  the  earnest  of  a  lasting  life-dream, 

Where  faith  and  sympathy  together  reign  ! 


At  Lauxel  Hill. 


WHERE  the  fair  river  with  the  flow 
Of  a  deep  thought  glides  past, 
And  the  green  banks  their  mystery  hold 

While  life  and  parting  last ; 
Where  morn  and  evening  glories  fall 

Straight  from  the  sky  o'erhead, 
Through  summer's  green  and  winter's  frost, 
There  sleep  a  city's  dead. 

With  simple  mounds  above  their  hearts, 

Or  'neath  the  solemn  tomb 
That  rises  cold,  unchangeable, 

Where  passionate  mourners  come, 
The  shadow  of  an  unknown  world 

Rests  softly  o'er  the  spot ; 
And  through  the  trees  a  requiem  floats 

O'er  loved  and  earth-forgot. 
6  61 


62  AT  LAUREL    HILL. 

They  sleep, —  the  child  that  went  with  flowers; 

The  maiden  glad  and  fair; 
The  bride,  death-crowned  forevermore ; 

Wife,  mother, —  all  are  there. 
Youth,  with  its  bright,  uncounted  dreams, 

The  man  of  wealth  and  pride, 
Age,  with  its  trembling,  peaceful  smile, 

Rest  silent,  side  by  side. 

Death  and  the  waving  grass  keep  trust 

Inviolate  to  Heaven, 
Though  human  hearts,  in  blinded  love, 

'Gainst  the  decree  have  striven. 
Our  weary  eyes  must  weep  their  tears ; 

Or,  closed  in  half  despair, 
They  turn  so  mournful  to  the  sod : 

There  is  no  weeping  there  ! 

Alternate  shade,  with  golden  light 

That  flickers  through  the  trees, 
May  sadden  living  hearts ;  the  dead 

Change  not  at  things  like  these. 
Wouldst  call  beloved  from  out  their  calm, 

To  walk  again  Life's  track, 
Where  thorns  and  joys  grow  side  by  side  ? 

They  smile,  and  answer  back  — 


AT  LAUREL    HILL.  63 

Passions  and  griefs  have  faded  far 

From  out  their  peaceful  ken ; 
No  painful  thought,  no  ling'ring  fear, 

Comes  to  their  souls  again. 
Oh,  Life,  amid  the  quiet  dead, 

Smile  with  the  glowing  flowers, 
That  drop  their  wealth  from  out  their  hearts 

Where  lieth  that  of  ours. 

Nor  sternly  mourn  where  sombre  yew 

Keeps  watch  above  the  dead, 
With  singing-birds  across  its  gloom, 

And  sunlight  on  its  head. 
The  restless  foot,  the  clash  of  earth, 

Would  stir  in  vain  the  air; 
God  wraps  in  His  diviner  calm 

The  souls  we  dream  rest  there. 


Written  on  Christmas  Day. 


HAIL  to  this  day  !    let  all  with  reverence  bow, 
And  differing  Nations  join  with  one  accord, 
Hymning  the  song  of   Love  and  brotherhood, 

To  praise  the  holy  gift  of  Heaven  —  our  Lord  ! 
Hail  to  this   joyful  day !    from  happy  hearts 

And  saddened  spirits,  send  the  thankful  prayer, 
Ye  favored  rich  and  ye  thrice-blessed  poor, 
Whose  Master  came  your  poverty  to  share. 

A  voiceless  melody  around  Him  floats, 

With  seraph  voices  Heaven's  high  arches  ring; 
But  from  the  depths  of   Man's  earth-slumb'ring  heart 

Comes  not  the  joy  to  herald  forth  His  King. 
That  infant  hand  a  viewless  sceptre  grasped, 

Which,  as  the  years  in  quick' ning  circles  rolled, 
O'er  human  minds  asserted  power  and  life, 

Defied  dark  storms,  and  would  not  be  controlled. 

64 


TRUE     FAIRIES.  65 

That  baby  brow  became  the  God-like  crown 

Of  virtues  clust'ring  round  the  sleeping  head ; 
And,  at  that  voice,  vast  multitudes  would  bow, 

Awed  into  silence  as  the  words  were  said  ! 
Aye,  bend  in  thanks  the  universal  knee, 

To  Him  enthroned  above  the  stars  of   Heaven,. 
And  this  life-memory  of  that  Blessed  One, 

Pray  that  our  many  sins  may  be  forgiven ! 


True  Fairies. 


YOU  believe  in  Fairies  no  longer, 
In  their  legends  most  strangely  sweet ; 
And  these  heads,  'neath  bright  curls  waxed  stronger, 

Could  trample  them  under  your  feet? 
You  would  search  no  more  for  their  traces, 

Through  fresh  woodland,  in  cup  of  flowers ; 
No  longer  turn  questioning  faces, 

Would  give  up  all  faith  in  their  powers? 
Ah,  but  gently  let  go  these  stories, 
In  this  sudden  wisdom  of  years ; 
6*  E 


66  TRUE    FAIRIES. 


While  I  talk  of  the  truer  glories, 

That  will  bring  with  them  smiles  and  tears  ! 
The  Fairies  you  read  of  would  hurry, 

Would  vanish  away  in  thin  air, 
And  often  but  add  to  the  worry ; 

Gifts,  too,  disappeared,  unaware. 
Yet  gently,  in  this  quaintest  losing, 

Let  a  deeper,  rich  knowledge  fall ; 
The  world  holds  far  better  for  choosing, 

Than  the  Fairies  are,  one  and  all ! 
Who  are  coming,  in  faith,  still  coming, 

North,  South,  far  and  near,  East  and  West 
O'er  sea,  over  land  ;  in  their  roaming 

They  shall  visit  with  gifts  your  home-nest  ! 
Neither  magical  purse,  nor  the  dropping 

Of  diamonds,  will  herald  their  way ; 
Yet  a  legion  of  Fairies,  close-stopping, 

Could  not  bring  you  such  treasure  as  they  ! 
In  their  hearts,  in  your  own,  lie  the  treasure, 

That  shall  make  you  most  happy  and  free ; 
Forbearance,  good  temper,  and  pleasure, 

May  ripen,  like  fruit  on  a  tree. 
God  Fairies  !    make  haste  to  deserve  them, 

With  their  real  name  my  story  ends ; 
He  gives  —  will  you  also  serve  them, 

These  new  Fairies  who  come  vour  friends? 


Courage. 


'TWKE  thou  firm  stand  against  encroaching  wrong, 

*     Whether  in  specious  robes  it  comes  arrayed, 
Or  with  a  glaring  falsehood  on  its  front, 
That  shames  true  manhood's  brow  to  look  upon ; 
And,  with  the  God-inspired  oracle  of  Truth 
Ruling  thy  inner  life,  stand  bravely  forth, 
Speeding  thy  mission  to  unheeding  ears  ! 

Let  not  thy  fervor  be  that  puny  flame, 

The  breath  of  public  censure  puffs  to  death ; 

But  a  strong  light,  that  from  its  upper  sphere 

Fights  glorious  passage  'gainst  opposing  clouds, 

And  with  no  heraldry  save  its  own  truth, 

To  win  it  favor  in  the  eyes  of  men, 

With  scathing  power  consumes  the  secret  wrong  ! 

Think'st  thou  the   noble  heart,  that  pulsing  turned 
With  thoughts  which  might  have  nerved  a  demigod, 
Within  a  prison  is  not  self-sustained, 
To  bear  frail  fortune's  foul  indignities? 

67 


68  COURAGE. 


Perchance  in  Freedom's  list  he  hath  enrolled, 
A  brief  embrace,  a  hurried  parting,  where 
The  household  fire  sheds  its  trembling  glow; 
And  to  the  mighty  cause  his  soul  is  given, 
Oblivious  to  the  voice  of  coward  Fear. 

Now,  where  stone  walls  shut  out  the  light  of  day, 
That  glimmering  entrance  seeks  'twixt  narrow  bars, 
The  Patriot's  foot  treads  not  less  firm  than  wont; 
The  moon  that  nightly  gilds  his  lowly  couch, 
Sheds  not  more  brightness  on  a  slumb'ring  world, 
Than  doth  an  honest  conscience  in  his  breast, 
Drop  calm  and  patience  o'er  his  troubled  soul. 
Despondence's  murky  cloud  hath  passed  away, 
Reason  and  honor  mutual  vigils  keep ; 
Heaven  frowns  not  on  the  pris'ner's  noble  cause, 
Though  crafty  men  would  crush  it  deep  in  earth. 
What  though  true  hearts  lie  still  and  cold  in  Death  ! 
Born  of  their  spirit  springs  a  mighty  host, 
Armed  in  the  panoply  of  Sacred  Right. 

Though  to  all  seeming  his  soul -stirring  power 
Hath  winged  its  way  to  Heaven,  whence  it  came, 
Fettered  that  hand  that  scorned  to  clasp  the  wrong, 
With  no  companionship  save  his  own  thoughts, 


"WORDS   ARE    IDLEr  69 

Immured  in  solitude  and  voiceless  gloom  — 
Stands  he  not  loftier  in  his  viewless  crown, 
Than  he  who  trembling  yields,  in  servile  fear, 
To  a  dark  wrong,  and  lays  his  freedom  down 
Upon  the  altar  of  Expediency  ? 


Words  are  Idle." 


CALL  them  not  idle,  when  a  word  hath  power 
To  rouse  pale  ghosts  from  mem'ry's  restless  sea, 
Or  bring  deep  crimson  to  thy  cheek  the  hour 

That  worldly  honors  shed  their  light  on  thee. 
Not  idle  in  their  fearful  might  to  gladden, 

For  jesting  tongue  may  wrong  their  mystic  power, 
Draping  the  glory,  doomed  by  fate  to  sadden, 

With  deepest  shadows,  at  its  triumph  hour. 
There  bitter  memory  lives,  though  proud  lips  smiling 

Press  back  upon  the  heart  the  unspoken  cry, 
That  scatters  dreams  of  truth,  believed,  beguiling  — 

That  waked  to  beauty,  but  in  grief  to  die  ! 
Ere  they  have  gone  forever,  past  recalling, 

When  some  green   grave   shall  bring  a  rush  of  tears, 
Oh,  check  the  passionate  thought,  that  never  falling 

Shall  prove  no  torture  to  thy  lonely  years. 


yO  -WORDS   ARE    I D  L  E.' 


Words  thrill  life's  torpor  into  fever,  changing 

The  weakness  that  endures  to  powers  that  dare ; 
Raise  prostrate  nations  to  the  thrones  unchanging, 

And  royal  purple  God's  own  freemen  wear  ! 
Call  them  not  idle  when,   in  gentle  breathing, 

Is  born  the  beauty  of  a  poet-thought, 
That  'mid  Earth's  dusky  shadows  strangely  wreathing, 

Lives  in  the  radiance    glowing  dreams  have  wrought. 

Not  idle  —  when  the  soul,  grown  cold  and  weary, 

Veiling  its  cloistered  sorrow  from  the  sun, 
Is  roused  by  kindly  words,  from  silence  dreary, 

To  wond'ring  power  at  the  magic  done. 
Not  idle  —  sanctified  in  Truth's  clear  chalice, 

High  thoughts  for  priest,  deep  life  for  bended  knee, 
Thrilling  the  waking  heart  in  hut  or  palace, 

With  glorious  waking  to  its  destiny ! 

Undying  echoes  from  a  spirit  chorus, 

Mingle  their  music  with  the  cadence  low 
That  seals  a  wrong  forgiven,  and  bending  o'er  us, 

The  glowing  stars  a  deeper  glory  know. 
Dost  call  them  idle?    at  Death's  gloomy  prison, 

The  stricken  sisters  bowed  with  drooping  head, 
Before  their  startled  eyes,  grave-bound,  arisen, 

Came  forth  the  living,  whom  they  mourned  as  dead  ! 


■'WORDS    ARE    IDLE."  J\ 

Nay,  never  idle  when  a  low  inflection 

May  reach  the  good  in  weakest  natures  cast, 
That  wand' ring  aimless,  in  a  wrong  direction, 

Discerns  the  pathway  of  its  life  at  last. 
Not  idle,   in  the  simple  phrase,  revealing 

An  inner  life  that  shadows  forth  thy  own ; 
Waving  aside  the  dusky  folds  concealing 

A  glowing  world,  where  spirit  reigns  alone. 

Not  idle,   human  heart,  in  accents  tender, 

Disclosing  hoarded  wealth  outpoured  for  thee 
Through  faith,  and  in  its  gen'rous,  full  surrender, 

Deep'ning  forever,  as  a  mystic  sea. 
Not  idle,  in  the  broken  tones  that  cover 

To  tender  eyes  the  long  withholden  shame 
In  folds  of  reverent  mercy  —  heart,  discover 

Thro'  thine  own  weakness,  strength  to  silence  blame  ! 

Not  idle,  in  the  rush  of  scathing  power 

That  shrivels  into  dust  some  mighty  wrong ; 
Nor  in  the  scorning  of  a  mocking  dower, 

That  bars  thy  list'ning  to  the  angels'  song. 
A  wond'rous  power  for  good  or  ill  lies  folded 

In  simplest  utterance.     Heir  of  earth  and  sky, 
Oh,  deem  not  words  are  idle!   they  have  moulded 

Spirits  for  Heaven  as  they  flitted  by  ! 


A  Thought  Versified. 


HOW  many  sluggards  bound  in  lazy  sleep 
Cumber  the  earth,  where  Nature's  forces  teem, 
Within  whose  breast  the  ancient  fires  still  burn, 
Bright  as  if  kindled  new  but  yesterday; 
While  Man,  with  folded  powers  in  his  breast, 
Waiting  their  summons  to  the  work  of  life, 
Thoughts  to  outstar  the  brightest  ray 
That  ever  twinkled  on  a  cloudless  night, 
Unheeding  dreams  —  himself    the  only  part, 
In  Nature's  frame-work  that  doth  jar  and  break  ! 

His  willing  spirit,  hampered  by  the  chains 
Which  the  small  imps  of  dulling  custom  weaves, 
Goes  thro'  the  plodding  round  of  daily  cares 
With  thought  of  little  save  the  present  need  ; 
Desires  narrowed  to  a  space  so  cramped, 
That  the  good  seed  no  deep  earth- root  can  take, 
And  dwindling  dies,  if  haply  ever  sown  ! 

72 


A     THOUGHT    VERSIFIED.  f$ 


Like  that  old  Sculptor  on  whose  life-work  form, 
Unknown,  the  passions  of  his  soul  were  traced, 
We  leave  the  impress  of  our  idle  sloth 
In  every  wrong  that  walks  unscourged  our  path. 

Perchance  we  touch  the  hem  of  active  life, 
And  the  dull  pulses  throb  with  loftier  aim  ; 
But  looks  and  sneers  of  others  damp  their  fire, 
And  the  weak  fabric  of  our  high  design 
Doth  lose  its  grandeur;    we  sink  nerveless  back 
On  the  soft  cushions  of  ignoble  ease. 

Oh,  thou  who  read'st,   if  Time  hath  touched  thy  hair, 
Or  Youth  still  wraps  thee  in  his  ruddy  glow, 
Sever  the  petty  chains  of  worldly  thought 
That  binds  thine  own,  and  with  a  fervent  grasp, 
And  earnest  faith  in  Truth's  supremacy, 
Live  thou,  and  work  —  not  drone  along  the  road, 
Where  opportunities  are  endless  strowed  ! 
7 


Love's  Equality. 


HE  came,  and,  like  a  sunset  glow, 
The  crimson  flushed  her  brow  of  snow, 
Then  faded  as  those  eyes  of  brown 
Met  his  so  fondly  looking  down. 
She  closed  the  book,  and  slowly  said : 
"Your  name  will  live  when  I  am  dead; 
Your  stronger  soul  was  meant  to  glow, 
To  plan,  to  soar,  to  pierce  below ; 
Your  eyes  to  search  some  deep  recess 
In  Nature's  pathless  wilderness, 
And  mine,  to  rest  on  lowlier  things. 
I  listen  when  the  wild-bird  sings, 
While  strangely  stirs  within  my  heart 
Some  echo  to  his  Heaven-taught  art. 
I  pluck  and  call  a  rose  a  rose ; 
Its  bloom  alone  my  spirit  knows. 
I  met  a  little  stranger  child, 
That  clasped  my  hand  and  softly  smiled  ; 
My  heart  was  gladder  all  that  day. — 
I  have  no  wings  to  soar  away, 
I  care  not  for  the  distant  stars 
That  slant  towards  earth  their  shining  bars; 

74 


LOVE'S   EQ  UALITY.  ?$ 

I  turn  to  wonders  ever  near, 

My  life,  my  thoughts,  still  centre  here. 

A  vision  of  diviner  things 

Some  passing  token  strangely  brings, 

The  wisdom  of  the  great  and  wise, 

Oft  hidden  from  my  blinded  eyes ; 

Yet  ever,  when  the  pure  and  true 

My  spirit  sees,  it  yearns  anew 

As  now,  when  you  are  list'ning  near, 

It  stands  erect,  to  love,  to  hear. 

But  when  I  sit  in  lonely  thought, 

A  strange  and  subtle  change  is  wrought ; 

I  see  afar  a  spirit  bright, 

That  sheds  indeed  a  tender  light. 

But  will  it  always  love  and  glow? 

This  truth  my  spirit  fain  would  know. ' ' 

He  listened,  then  a  tender  smile 

Lit  up  that  face,  so  grave  the  while, 

And  bending  down  he  gently  said  : 

"Give  your  true  tears  when  I  lie  dead, 

And  let  the  flattering  crowd  stand  free 

To  welcome  idols  yet  to  be  ! 

The  world  is  very  bare  and  wide, 

I  need  you  standing  at  my  side ; 

Dismiss  that  thought  of  distant  star, 

I  love  you,  dearest,  as  you  are  !  " 


On  the  Death  of  an  Infant. 


HE.  o'er  whose  form  the  loving  glance  would  linger, 
For  whose  dear  sake  the  fervent  prayers  were  said, 
The  young,  the  fair,  marked  out  by  Death's  cold  finger, 
Like  a  sweet  dream  to  its  far  realm  hath  sped  ! 

He,  whose  brief,  shadowy  life  awaked  the  numbers 
Of  love-rills  slumb'ring  in  the  human  soul ; 

He,  that  with  fond  caress  was  soothed  to  slumbers, 
Hath  passed  like  sunbeam  to  the  Perfect  Whole  ! 

The  lisping  tones  that  fell  in   music  measure, 
Thrilling  with  tenderness  the  hearts  that  heard, 

Still  do  they  haunt  us,  memories  of  our  treasure, 
Like  distant  echoes  from  some  heaven-claimed  bird. 

Yet,  though  the   voice,  so  sweet  and  thrilling,  never 
Shall  music  at  the  loved  one's  call  awake ; 

And  though  the  ties  we  hoped  He  would  not  sever, 
Amid  those  earnest  tears  did  ruthless  break, 

76 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF   AN    INFANT.  JJ 


Grieve  ye  gently,  with  no  bitter  mingling, 
For  earthly  gem  reset  in  light   from   Heaven  ; 

Death  comes,  the  purest  ones  of  earth  still  singling, 
To  shine  as  beacons  to  sad  hearts  now  riven  ! 

All  the  vain  dreams  of  earthly  good  are  over, 

Wealth,  Genius,  Temporal  Power  are  not  for  him; 

But  can  aspiring  love  in  thought  discover 

An  earthly  dream  that  makes  Heaven's  glory  dim? 

All  spotless  as  the  first  white  cloud  of   morning, 
The  soul  hath  left  its  earthly  temple  clay, 

And,  with  the  voices  of  blest  angels  calling, 
To  its  immortal  home  hath  passed  away. 
7* 


The  Haunted  House. 


P  RAY,  narrow,  and  chill,  with  its  roof  moss-grown, 
^-*   Shutters  half-hingeless,  and  creaking  door, 
Where  the  wind  creeps  in  like  a  stifled  moan, 

Starting  thick  dust  from  the  dingy  floor  — 
Mocked  in  the  water,  sunlighted  and  clear, 

Gliding  o'er  rushes  deep-fringing  its  bank, 
Like  a  shade  of  the  Past,  in  its  loneliness  drear  — 

Stands  that  Haunted  House  in  the  morn  dews  dank. 


The  grass,  long  untrodden  by  human  foot, 

Rises  tall  and  rank  in  the  silent  lane; 
And  the  grim  old  poplars,  with  rain-bleached  root, 

Will  never  be  covered  with  green  again  ! 
Three  children,  their  satchels  carelessly  swung, 

In  the  fresh' ning  sunshine  of  Youth  and  of  Morn 
Sit  on  the  fence,  and  one  eager  tongue 

Tells  the  curse  that  blighted  ere  they  were  born. 

78 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  jg 

How  one  with  a  soft  voice,  but  cruel  and  cold, 

Lived  where  bright  roses  their  odors  then  threw; 
How  he  struck  dead  the  wife  he  had  wed  for  gold, 

And  hid  his  dark  burden  where  pond-lilies  grew. 
The  child  of  the  farmer  who  tilled  the  land, 

Crossing  the  stile  in  the  morning  gray, 
Shrank  from  the  touch  of  his  proffered  hand, 

As  frowning  and  trembling  he  strode  away. 

Long  with  pail  in  hand  she  stood  in  the  lane, 

Wond'ring  and  watching  the  path  he  trod; 
Twice  o'er  his  shoulder  he  looked  again, 

Then  his  heel  marked  deeper  the  dewy  sod. 
She  tells  how  he  fled  to  a  foreign  land, 

Where  suns  were  warmer,  the  flowers  more  fair, 
Years  brought  him  gray  hairs,  and  a  trembling  hand 

And  a  soul  whose  tenant  was  wild  despair. 

'Tis  said,  when  yon  village  bell  chimes  one, 

He  rushes  past  with  a  strange,  low  sound :  — 
The  children  turn   pale  in  the  morning  sun 

And  with  frightened  eyes  at  the  reeds  glance  'round. 
'T  is  only  a  waterfowl's  rustling  wing 

Wakens  the  echoes  that  slept  once  more, 
And  the  children  turn  from  the  startled  thing 

And  the  gleam  on  the  Haunted  House  is  o'er ! 


In  Memory  of  Charles  Sumner. 


^PO  grander  realm  beyond  our  straining  eyes, 
A     With  hand  unbribed,  a  man  well  proved  has  sped ; 
This  "whitest  soul"  puts  off  its  earthly  guise  \ 
Press  back  all  tears;    we  dare  not  call   him  dead. 

Dead,  when  the  farewell  word  his  spirit  spoke 
For  him  he  loved,  still  haunts  the  vibrant  air? 

The  same  true  soul  that  scorned  a  nation's  yoke, 
Setting  its  scathing  brand  forever  there? 

Dead,  when  his  work  well  done  with  bravest  mien, 
And  faith  close-tried,  the  world  of  sense  recedes? 

Passing  the  noiseless  way  to  light  serene, 

We  garnering  up  his  noble  words  and  deeds? 

Dead,  when  the  blessed  seed  he  helped  to  strow 

Bears  life  miraculous,  enriching  all? 
When  our  new  hearts,  in  silent  overflow, 

Would  break  old  bonds,  heeding  a  nobler  call? 

Ah,  speech  is  poor  and  vain  as  sight  and  sound  ; 

The  soul  alone  hath  clearer  vision  given  : 
No,  no!    not  dead — enwrapt  in  God's  profound 

He  lives  —  unstained  for  Earth,  most  free  for  Heaven. 

80 


Poems  of  the  War. 


Dear  land,  whose  Future  still  untold 
Spreads  far  beyond  the  prophet' s  ken, 

Now  wrapt  In  many  a  cloudy  fold — 
Land  of  our  reverence — Hope  of  Men  ! 

The  blasphemy  of  doubt  we  fling, 

And  trample  under  stronger  feet ; 
A  Future  age  thy  calm  shall  sing, 

In  happy  homes,  in  cadence  sweet. 

No  shining  spirit  cleaves  the  air, 
A  winged,  glad  deliverer  nigh  ; 
Through  swerveless  Truth,  through  strength  to  dare, 
The  Nation  feels  she  shall  not  die/—F. 

July  14,  1862. 

F 


We  would  kneel  at  Freedom' s  feet, 
Lo7u  her  voice,  but  strangely  sweet, 
Thus  as  face  to  face  we  meet. 

Failure  written  in  our  Past, 
Holding  Truth  and  Honor  fast, 
We  would  face  the  Right  at  last  !- 


The  Summons. 


FROM  the  dark  battle-cloud  that  falls, 
With  flashing  lights  between, 
Around  Fort  Sumter's  shattered  walls, 

Wherein  brave  deeds  were  seen; 
From  embrasures  whence  dauntless  hearts 

Swept  Treason  to  its  fate, 
Comes  the  stern  breathing:    "Peace  departs; 
Wake,  men,  ere  yet  too  late  ! 

"  Wake  !  the  strange  phantom  once  so  dim, 
Assuming  shape  and  life, 
Tempts  reckless  heart  and  stalwart  limb 

To  dare  th'  unhallowed  strife. 
Dark  passions  from  the  nether  deep 

That  underlie  the  soul, 
And  lust  of  power  that  will  not  sleep, 
Spring  towards  their  promised  goal. 

83 


84  THE    SUMMONS. 


"Wake,  Freemen!   in  the  mighty  power, 

That  nerved  true  hearts  of  old, 
Whose  standard,  flung  through  danger's  hour 

In  many  a  starry  fold, 
Sends  the  warm  blood  from  heart  to  cheek 

In  strange,  electric  thrill  — 
Awake  !  that  magic  nerves  the  weak ; 

No  more,  ye  strong,  be  still  ! 

"Is  Liberty  a  poet's  dream, 

A  vision  ye  forego?" 
A  nation's  voice,  with  steel's  bright  gleam, 

In  thunder  answers,   "No!" 
Then  pour  ye  thousands  of  the  land, 

Whose  souls  are  firm  and  true, 
And  dare,  with  God-anointed  hand, 

The  deeds  ye  now  must  do. 

Ye  tender  women  of  the  North, 

If  secret  tears  must  fall, 
Smile  bravely  as  ye  send  them  forth, 
Live  answers  to  the  call. 
"God  and  the  Right!"  that  battle-cry 
Shall  wake  the  hills  again, 
And  Victory,  with  her  stars  on  high, 
Pour  forth  a  deathless  strain  ! 
April  20,  1861. 


A  Voice  to  the  Nation. 


OH,  brothers  in  that  brotherhood  the  living  God  hath 
made, 
Fling   to  the  winds  your  impious  doubts,  no  longer  be 

afraid  ! 
Rise,  trusting  spirits,  all  aglow  with  Truth's  immortal  fire, 
Even  now,  thro'  all  the  din  of  War,  thrills  music  from 

her  lyre  ; 
As  when  autumnal,  leafy  hills  faint,  golden  glories  show, 
Steals  the  veiled  Christ-light  smould'ring  still  from  cen- 
turies long  ago ; 
Already,  from  immortal  heights,  prophetic  eyes  may  see, 
Float  spirit-voices,  echoing  clear  the  anthem  of  the  Free  ! 

No  longer,  brothers,  bow  the  knee  to  empty  rite  nor  creed, 
The  living  grace  of  God  is  near  to  crown  the  living  deed. 
Too  long  in  churches  grand  and  cold  the  formal  prayer 

hath  risen, 
Too  long  the  yearning  soul  of  man  beat  'gainst  its  narrow 

prison  ; 

8  85 


86  A    VOICE     TO    THE    NATION. 

What  solemn  bells,  more  solemn  voice,  or  musical  amen, 
Prove    ever   to    the    earnest    soul   that    Christ    is   come 

again  ! 
Too  long,  oh,  holy  eyes   and  clear,   now  gazing  on   our 

shame, 
Was  spurned  the  matchless  crown  of  Life,  whence  peace 

and  glory  came  ! 

But,  thro'  all  thraldom  low  and  clear,  a  solemn  voice  hath 

spoke, 
And   o'er   the   bristling  lines  of  war  a  human   sunshine 

broke ; 
A  new,  mysterious  power  is  waked,  and,  all  perplexed  and 

still, 
Wait    sluggish    hearts     the    truth     alone    with    rushing 

strength  shall  fill. 
Oh,  men  !   ye  may  not  hide  the  good  that  God  himself 

hath  given, 
Already  ope  the  noiseless  gates  of  a  diviner  Heaven  — 
Already  with  a  firmer  tread  ye  walk  the  echoing  street, 
With  new-born  ardor  spurning  pelf,  as  ashes  'neath  your 

feet; 
And  by  a  viewless  hand  I  see  the  new  evangel  traced, 
That  long  shall   sound   o'er  crowded   mart   and  solitary 

waste  ! 


A    VOICE     TO    THE    NATION.  Sj 

The    mighty  heart    of  Nature  beats,  ye   cannot  bind   it 

now, 
When    love   of  Home    and   Country  sheds    a   light  o'er 

meanest  brow, 
And,   shrivelling  in  the  purer  air,   may  human  burthens 

fall, 
And  Liberty  and  Honor  crown  the  peaceful  days  of  all ! 

The  Past  is  sounding  from  its  grave,  in  warning  tones  and 

clear : 
"  Oh,  children  !  from  your  deeper  Heaven  th'  Archangel's 

voice  I  hear. 
On  Life's  great  deep,  man's  partial  themes  are  swayed 

from  shore  to  shore, 
God's  grander  law,  thro'  calm  and  storm,  abides  forever- 


The  unconscious  wrong  our  fathers  laid  upon  our  hearts 

this  day, 
By  manly  lives  from  their  dear  names,  I  charge  ye,  sweep 

away  ! 
Oh,  say  not,  while  unnumbered  tents  spring  up  on  hill 

and  plain, 
That  human  thoughts   are  phantoms  dim,  and  power  an 

empty  name ; 


S8  A    VOICE     TO    THE    NATION. 

We  call  dread  lightning  from  the  Heavens,  meek  vassal 

to  our  will  — 
Deep  Nature  yields  her  treasures  up,  and  Man  is  monarch 

still  ! 
The  surging  tide  of  Life  sweeps   on,  beneath  a  mighty 

call, 
To  timid  hearts  and  brave  it  speaks,  addressing  one  and 

all; 
The  rust  on  fair  ideals  laid  drops  off,  and  calm  and  clear 
The  radiant  forms  of  Hope  and  Faith  are  hourly  drawing 

near. 

Ye,  whose  free  hands,  embrowned  by  toil,  are  true,  and 

scorn  to  clasp 
The  deep,  defiling  wrong,  that  writhes  to  bind  you  in  its 

grasp ; 
Ye,  at  whose  hearth-side  ease  and  joy  till  now  were  daily 

guests ; 
Ye  master-minds,  whose  every  word  strikes  power  from 

kindred  breasts, 
Immortal  spirits  !  still  be  true,  even  now  to  prescient  eye, 
God's  angel,  with   rich  blessings  fraught,  stands  waiting 

your  reply  ! 
July  i,  1861. 


Knight  of  Truth  and  Liberty. 


SOLDIER,  whom  the  hurrying  tide 
Drifts  a  moment  to  my  side, 
All  unknown  your  varied  past, 
Where  your  lot  in  life  is  cast, 
What  your  future  path  may  be, 
All  is  hidden,  dark  for  me. 
This  alone  I  know  —  the  mien 
Of  a  braver  ne'er  was  seen, 
And  your  deep  eyes'  steady  glow 
Tell  of  generous  thoughts  below. 
On  your  brow  no  crown  is  placed, 
By  no  gem  nor  chaplet  graced, 
Yet,  true  knight,  your  path  has  shone 
Brighter  than  the  monarch's  throne  ! 
Deeds,  so  grand  that,  human  speech 
Fail  their  deeper  sense  to  reach ; 
Thoughts,  that  flash  so  keen  and  true, 
Selfish  fears  are  cleft  in  two ; 
Speech,  that  ringing  grand  and  strong, 
Thrills  the  heart  like  holiest  song; 

89 


90         KNIGHT    OF    TRUTH  AND    LIBERTY. 

Living  men  and  patriot  dead, 
Mark  the  glorious  path  you  tread  ! 
Well  I  know  your  place  will  be 
Foremost  'midst  the  brave  and  free, 
Springing  forth  at  danger's  call  — 
Vanguard  of  the  hopes  of  all  ! 
Soldier,  soon  the  battle's  din, 
Like  fierce  storm  shall  hem  you  in  ; 
Take  a  woman's  earnest  prayer, 
All  good  angels  shield  you  there  ! 
Never  spoke  a  holier  cause  — 
Liberty  and  equal  laws, 
Justice  for  the  wronged  and  weak, 
Right  for  every  lip  to  speak. 
Truth,  that  flies  from  heart  to  mouth, 
Cleansing  fire  to  North  and  South ; 
Herald  of  that  lasting  peace, 
When  the  clash  of  War  shall  cease  ! 
Unto  you  the  charge  is  given, 
From  the  list'ning  courts  of  Heaven, 
Oath  of  trust  in  secret  sworn, 
Pledge  of  faith  in  silence  worn, 
Faith  in  Right  so  true  and  high, 
It  would  seem  no  cross  to  die  — 
Keep  your  soul  from  evil  free, 
Knight  of  Truth  and  Liberty  ! 


The  Alarm-Bell. 


RING  loud,  deep  bell,  and  summon  out 
The  men  whose  grandsires,  strong  and  true, 
Once  battled  thro'  a  storm  of  doubt, 
To  stand  beneath  the  promised  blue  ! 

Ring  in  stern  music  on  the  air, 

A  calm  resolve,  a  manly  hope, 
Electric  o'er  the  dumb  despair, 

That  chills  faint  hearts  of  narrower  scope. 

Ring  out  —  we  mark  the  omen  well, 
All  shallow  dreams  of  lust  and  pride, 

And  may  a  reverent  Future  tell 

How  Freedom  lived,  Injustice  died  ! 

Clang  loud  the  measure  true  and  bold, 
Gray,  trembling  veterans  chafe  to  hear, 

And  may  a  race  of  freemen  hold, 

In  deed  and  truth,  that  freedom  dear. 

9« 


92  THE  ALARM-BELL. 


From  cities,  where  the  din  of  trade 
Beats  answer  to  the  higher  call, 

From  hamlets,  nestling  half-afraid, 

Where  mountains  rise  and  streamlets  fall : 

From  sheltered  ease,  from  selfish  care, 
O'er  busy  throngs,  thro'  shaded  glen, 

Strike  loud  upon  the  vibrant  air  — 
Ring  out  the  bands  of  stalwart  men  ! 

The  foe,  a  Nation's  generous  trust, 

So  blindly  long  misunderstood, 
In  guilty  rage,  to  common  dust 

Would  grind  that  nation's  hope  of  good  ; 

Would  spring  with  fierce,  exultant  cry, 
O'er  all  our  fathers  died  to  win ; 

Would  make  one  blessed  truth  a  lie, 
Our  boasted  progress  lost  therein. 

A  living  mildew  on  the  land, 

Where  glitter  sheaves  of  golden  grain, 
With  shameless  eyes  and  grasping  hand, 

The  reign  of  rapine  comes  again  ! 


THE    ALARM- DELL. 


93 


Ring  out,  oh,  wild  alarum-bell  ! 

Our  manhood  bears  a  living  trust, 
And  not  in  vain  your  discords  swell 

O'er  sacred,  unforgotten  dust. 

Come  forth,  oh,  men!    the  traitors'   taunt 
Hath  waked  a  spirit  deep  and  strong, 

Thro'  bristling  lines  to  guarded  haunt 
One  .fire  shall  blaze,  consuming  wrong. 

Men,  destined  for  a  nobler  peace 

Than  kings  have  dreamed  or  poet  sung, 
From  books,  and  loom,  and  traffic  cease, 
Complete  the  task  your  sires  begun  i 
ArRiL  23,  1861, 


IN  MEM  OR  Y  OF  THE  DEAD  OF 

The  Second  Louisiana  Regiment. 


H 


OW  to  death,  'mid  shot  and  shell, 
Heroes  from  a  human  hell, 
Glad  they  rushed,  let  History  tell ! 


With  the  Patriot-host  that  died 
For  their  country,  side  by  side, 
Fused  in  one  o'envhelming  tide  ! 

Nevermore  the  scourge  nor  chain, 
Madd'ning  curse  on  heart  or  brain, 
To  their  lives  will  come  again. 

Darkened  lives  —  without,  within, 
Through  the  battle's  crash  and  din, 
Divinely  bright  the  light  flamed  in. 

From  our  scorn,  their  daily  cross, 
From  all  doubting,  sense  of  loss, 
From  Earth's  shadow,  pain,  and  dross, 


94 


LET    THERE    BE    LIGHT: 


95 


They  have  passed,  immortal  men  ! 
Nevermore  will  tongue  or  pen 
Brand  them  coward-slaves  again. 

Slaves  no  more  —  the  battle  tide 
Burst  their  prison-portals  wide  ; 
Free  —  forever  free —  they  died  ! 


Let  there  be  Light:' 


NO  longer  slaves  !    thro'   storm  and  wrath, 
Our  birthright  shall  again  be  won, 
But  glows  the  rough,  untrodden  path, 

In  radiance  of  the  rising  sun. 
Our  shackles  fall  —  with  vibrant  clang 

By  startled  nations  heard  afar  — 
The  Truth  our  deepest  poet  sang, 

Bursts  in  the  thunder- tones  of  war  ! 
What  tho'   prophetic  eyes  are  few  ! 

Thro'  scenes  of  grief  and  ghastly  strife, 
A  trembling  glory  struggles  through 

The  birth-throes  of  diviner  life. 


96  "LET    THE  RE    BE    LIGHT" 

No  passion  in  the  answer  borne 

To  listening  ears  across  the  sea, 
A  grander  thought  o'erleaps  the  scorn, 

Cold  England  well  may  flush  to  see. 
Poor  arrows,  long  at  random  flung, 

All  taunts  'neath  firmer  feet  are  trod, 
Rougher  the  way  than  foreign  tongue 

Thro'  suff'ring  still  we  grope  to  God  : 
Albeit  thro'  doubt  we  dimly  see 

The  sun,  that  calm  and  radiant  shines, 
Broad  hope  of  lost  Humanity, 

Tingeing  with  light  the  sombre  pines  ! 

No  mocking  censers'   rich  perfume, 

For  nobler  duties  stern  and  high, 
Nor  silvery  chant  nor  roses'  bloom 

Where  waiting  millions  fettered  lie; 
But  manly  strength  to  climb  the  hills 

And  meet  th'   Eternal  face  to  face, 
Where  truer  light  the  spirit  fills, 

Prophetic  of  a  nobler  race. 
Our  golden  dust,  with  liberal  hand, 

To  higher  uses  now  is  given, 
And  gathers  many  a  loyal  band, 

Unflinching  'neath  the  storms  of   Heaven. 


"LET    THERE    BE    LIGHT."  97 

God  grant  His  deep,  unwritten  code, 

To  sanctify  each  parchment  scroll, 
To  point  the  clear,  diviner  road, 

To  wake  dumb  life  from  pole  to  pole ; 
To  fleck  the  world  with  happier  thought 

Than  kings  with  all  their  pomp  have  given, 
Thro'  human  scheming,  close  inwrought, 

Gleams  here  and  there  a  link  to  Heaven. 
Thro'  scenes  of  strife,  with  tireless  hand, 

Be  ours  the  seeds  of  peace  to  sow; 
No  longer  on  the  shifting  sand 

Our  manhood's  priceless  wealth  we  strow. 

This  banner  —  wet  with  doubting  tears, 

Its  deeper  meaning  all  flung  out  — 
Shall  wave  above  the  misty  years, 

Where  faith  stands  questioning  of  our  doubt 
No  shining  spirit  cleaves  the  air, 

A  winged,  glad  deliverer  nigh, 
Through  shame  and  war  and  half  despair 

The  Nation  learns  she  shall  not  die  ! 
July  14,  1862. 

9  Q 


Waiting. 


WAITING  in  patience  yet  a  little  longer, 
Soon  will  the  Nation  stand  erect  and  free ; 
Through  each  defeat,  by  every  cross  made  stronger, 
To  usher  in  a  broader  liberty. 

Watching  in  faith  to  hail  the  glorious  morrow, 
That  sees  us  helpers  of  our  brother-men ; 

Beyond  this  hour  of  blood  and  bitter  sorrow, 
The  reign  of  generous  trust  shall  come  again. 

Watching  in  hope,  the  heavy  storm  is  beating  — 
Strong  be  those  hearts  that  wrestle  'neath  its  din 

From  your  far  camps,  beloved,  hear  our  greeting; 
Gather  our  prayers  with  thoughts  of  Freedom  in. 

Waiting  in  love,  so  will  our  Heavenly  Father 

Give  to  these  hearts  the  priceless  boon  we  crave - 

Peace,  in  whose  equal  light  all  men  shall  gather  — 
Diviner  peace,  that  comes  to  heal  and  save. 

98 


ANGELS    OF  MERCY.  99 

May  truest  prayers  be  deeds  of  noble  daring, 

Our  praise  —  deep  thoughts  that  make  the  whole  world 
kin  ; 

Our  church  —  one  glowing  soul,  forever  bearing 
The  Christ,  no  longer  veiled,  enthroned  within. 
Dec.  15,  1862. 


Angels  of  Mercy. 


THEY  come !  they  come  !  by  viewless  hosts  attended. 
Ere  from  the  battle's  glare  their  path  is  free ; 
By  the  great  Father  of  us  all  befriended, 
They  come  with  active  love  and  sympathy. 

It  needs  no  palms  nor  harp  of  gold  —  the  story 
Comes  to  our  hearts  a  tender  music-strain, 

Floating  through  all  the  clouds  of  war  and  glory, 
Those  earnest  voices  sounding  not  in  vain. 

Spirits  of  healing,  where  in  anguish  lying, 

Our  own  dear  friends  and  brothers  speechless  sigh, 

Gently  they  come,  and  'midst  the  dead  and  dying 
They  pass  no  faint-breathed  parting  message  by. 


Peace" 


DOUBTER,  shut  from  Freedom's  reign, 
Blinded  to  the  nation's  gain, 
Past  and  present  speak  in  vain. 

Out  beyond  this  stormy  sea, 
Shining  far  and  stretching  free, 
Eyes  of  Faith  may  clearly  see, 

Calmer  sails  and  happier  shore, 
With  the  guilty  stain  it  bore 
Lost  in  sunlight  evermore. 

Sealed   beneath  the  living  sun, 
Thy  dim  vision,  one  by  one, 
Counts  the  links  of  good  undone ; 

Vainly,  over  earth  and  sky, 
Flaming  hints  of  God  go  by  — 
Dim  the  truth   and  fixed  the  lie. 


PEACEr  101 


Vainly  to  those  clouded  eyes, 
Waking   to  a  dull  surprise, 
Miracles  of   old  arise. 

Vainly  through  the  ages  past, 
Life  immortal  holding  fast, 
Prophets  cried  and  martyrs  cast 

From  their  purer  souls  the  crime, 
Hateful  unto  coming  time, 
Catching  faint  its  funeral  chime 

Vague  to  thee  the  crowded  past, 
Vaguer  still  the  issues  vast, 
In  the  stormy  Present  cast. 

Vainly  must  the  dream  expire  ? 
Waves  of  strife  still  dashing  higher, 
Force  thee  from  that  weak  desire. 

Yet,  above  thy  doubting  sighs, 
Where  the  Mount  of  Vision  lies,' 
Gleams  of  a  bright  Future  rise, 

Tingeing  with  prophetic  glow 
Dreary  valleys  stretched  below, 
Shrouded  deep  in  ice  and  snow. 


9 


102  -PEACE." 


Clear  cut  on  the  morning  air, 
All  the  hill-tops,  gray  and  bare, 
Blossom  as  in  spring-time  fair; 

Sinks  all  passion,  dies  the  din, 
With  a  purer  light  hemmed  in, 
Fades  away  the  Nation's  sin. 

Then,  beneath  a  common  sun, 
Duty's  daily  tasks  are  done, 
Liberty  and  Law  are  one. 

No  loud  trump  will  shake  the  air  — 
Scenes  of  blood,  nor  slave's  despair, 
Jar  not  on  the  quiet  there. 

Peace,  diviner  peace,  will  spring 
Such  a  glory  on  her  wing, 
War  shall  be  a  baleful  thing; 

Proudly  will  the  Nation  rise  — 
By  the  fire  in  freemen's  eyes, 
Kings  will  read  their  destinies. 

Stronger  for  this  scathing  blast, 
Wiser  made  by  trials  past  — 
Peace  will  flood  our  homes  at  last  ! 
Dec.,  1864. 


The  Land  of  the  Free. 


GRANDLY  it  breaks  above  the  clouds  of  battle, 
That  may  not  hide  the  glory  of  the  skies  — 
Above  this  deadly  strife,  the  cannon's  rattle, 
The  visions  of  a  nobler  future  rise. 

Morning  upon  the  land,  whose  trailing  shadows 
Mocked  the  vainglory  of  the  sign  she  bore ; 

Baptized  anew,  these  hills  and  fertile  meadows 
Glow  in  the  light  of  Liberty  once  more  ! 

Bless  God  it  shines  into  our  souls,  my  brothers, 
Wrestling  with  evil  'midst  the  deafning  fray  — 

Shed  freely,  proud,  true  tears,  oh,  stricken  mothers, 
Ye  may  not  die  of  broken  hearts  to-day. 

Shrined  in  a  Nation's  love,  they  live  forever 
Whose  souls  were  braver  for  your  parting  kiss ; 

It  needs  no  gleam  across  Death's  solemn  river, 
To  light  your  vision  to  their  deeper  bliss. 

103 


104  TIIE    LAND    OF    THE    FREE. 

Not  by  those  paths  marked  out  in  Fancy  tender, 
Their  feet  the  painless  road  of  Pleasure  trod, 

In  the  stern  joy  of  Manhood's  full  surrender, 
Their  wiser  spirits  found  the  way  to  God. 

Vanished  the  glamour,  faded  all  the  glory,  • 

Gleaming  from  armor  of  the  knights  of   old, — 

Sworn  unto  Right,  a  more  heroic  story 
To  future  ages  truer  lives  have  told. 

Pour  without  stint  the  once  close-hoarded  treasure, 
Spirits  of  good  will  name  the  work  divine ; 

With  generous  hand,  with  new  and  deeper  pleasure, 
Lay  it,  thrice-blessed,  on  a  purer  shrine. 

Children  of  Him  to  whom  the  sick  and  dying 

Turned  with  new  faith  when  every  hope  was  past  — 

From  the  deep  gloom  wherein  your  souls  were  lying, 
The  light  Christ  kindled  leads  ye  forth  at  last. 


By  these  fresh  graves  the  voice  of  your  despai 
Cries  to  our  spirit  from  a  kindred  clay, — 

Lift  up  your  hearts,  so  patient  in  the  bearing, 
The  heavy  stone  of  doom  is  rolled  away. 


nnsr 


OUR    PATRIOT    DEAD.  105 


Come  from  your  prison-house,  for  day  is  dawning  ; 

Stretch  forth  your  hands,  the  shameful  fetters  fall ; 
Heavy  your  burdens,  deep  our  cruel  scorning, 

Lo  !   the  Most  High  hath  heard  your  feeble  call. 

Oh,  Land  of  Hope  !   our  love  but  flamed  the  stronger, 
When  new  disaster  made  our  spirits  brave ; 

Still  may  we  trust,  till  on  thy  soil  no  longer 
Clank  the  dull  fetters  of  the  weary  slave  ! 


Our  Patriot  Dead. 


THE  dead  !    the  dead  !    no  passionate  pain 
Shall  make  their  shining  memories  dim ; 
Death  wipes  away  each  earthly  stain, 
And  so  —  a  solemn  requiem. 

To  honored  graves,  to  distant  sod, 
No  tender  mother's  eye  may  reach  ; 

Dust  unto  dust,  their  souls  to  God, 

With  trusting  hearts,  with  broken  speech, 

We  yield  them  back,  our  Patriot-dead  ; 

Forever  blest  their  household  fame, 
Since,  gushing  where  such  valor  led, 
.A  Nation's  springs  of  cleansing  came. 


Freedom's  Martyr. 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    PRESIDENT    LINCOLN,  APRIL  I  4,    1 865. 


ACROSS  the  heights  of  future  time, 
To  all  true  men  of  every  clime, 
One  name  will  swell  —  a  sound  sublime. 

Our  children,  'neath  a  prosperous  sun, 
Peace,  Law,  and  Right  all  blent  in  one, 
Will  own  his  glorious  mission  done. 

Will  say,  "True  hearts,  speak  out,  who  can  ! 
There  rose  a  cry,  God  shaped  His  plan, 
He  ruled  events,  He  sent  the  man. 

"A  man  who  held  the  Nation's  trust; 
Pure  gold,  where  much  was  dross  and  rust, 
No  tears  above  his  honored  dust ! 

"Our  heart  this  shining  memory  wears 
To  bless  like  deep,  unspoken  prayers  — 
To  make  us  strong  'midst  daily  cares. 

106 


FREEDOM'S    MARTYR.  10*] 

"He  lived  a  Patriot,  pure  and  true, 
In  that  dark  time  so  strange  and  new, 
Our  fathers'  spirits  wrestled  through. 

"  He  said  to  every  slave,  '  Go  free  ! 
To  God,  no  other,  bend  the  knee  — ■ 
His  glorious  bidding  speaks  through  me  ! 

"  No  selfish  thought,  no  blinding  pride, 
His  vision  clear,  his  soul  stood  wide 
To  God,  and  all  the  world  beside  !  " 

Their  gain  —  the  trees  will  look  more  fair, 
Their  souls  will  breathe  a  purer  air, 
That  Liberty  is  reigning  there. 

Their  gain  —  the  bitter  loss  is  ours ; 

They  wound  like  thorns  these  glowing  flowers ; 

We  grieve  amidst  glad,  spring-time  showers. 

Triumphant  will  their  voices  ring : 
"Glad  tribute  to  his  truth  we  bring, 
Speak,  men,  his  praise,  ye  poets  sing!  " 

Ah,  me,  with  trembling  voice  instead, 
With  sorrowing  hearts,  with  drooping  head, 
We  cry,  "Our  Martyr-Friend  is  dead!" 


IOS  OUR    SOLDIERS   AND    SAILORS. 

Forever  gone,  the  face  beloved, 
The  soul  by  kindliest  feeling  moved, 
The  Friend  our  grateful  hearts  approved 

Oh,  light  gone  out  !   oh,  vacant  place  ! 
We  look  each  in  the  other's  face  — 
Our  little  lives  seem  mean  and  base. 

So  pure,  so  true,  we  leaned  on  him, 
Our  hearts  turn  faint,  our  faith  is  dim, 
Help  Thou  whose  counsel  aided  him. 
Ai'ril  17, 1865. 


Our  Soldiers  and  Sailors. 


ROOM  for  the  heroes  who,  with  colors  flying, 
Through  fire  and  blood  have  brought  us  Liberty. 
A  voice  from  every  tattered  flag  is  crying : 
"The  curse  is  lifted  —  lo  !   the  Land  is  free! 

"Never  again  across  your  hallowed  borders 
The  rebel  clash,  the  slaves'  low  cry  will  ring ; 

Never  these  green  hills  echo  traitors'  orders; 
Freedom  is  won,  God  only  shall  be  king  !  " 


OUR    SOLDIERS   A  X  D    SAILORS.  IO9 

Room  for  the  Dead  —  forever  shrined  in  glory. 

Whose  souls  rushed  heavenward  from  victorious  field  ; 
Their  memory  in  our  lives,  their  deeds  in  story, 

Who  made  their  loyal  hearts  the  Nation's  shield. 

Room  for  the  Dead,  who  living  pined  in  prison, 
With  wistful  eyes,  denied  the  breath  of  day ; 

For  them  at  last  th'  immortal  sun  hath  risen, 
Whom  hunger  wasted,  making  gaunt  and  gray ! 

Oh,  graves  so  wide  and  deep,  in  solemn  keeping 
Ye  hide  our  martyrs,  but  we  dare  not  say  : 

"  Hide,  too,  the  Nation's  curse!  "     The  dead  awaking, 
Would  rise  to  chill  us  with  their  pale  array. 

Room  for  the  Living, —  men  who  braved  all  dangers, 
Scaling  grim  forts  or  tossed  on  stormiest  deep ; 

For  such,  oh,  brothers,  shall  we  call  them  strangers, 
Who  toiled,  watched,  fasted,  through  our  quiet  sleep? 

Room  in  our  midst ;  aye,  welcome  back  the  living, 
Maimed,  shattered,  that  a  Nation  might  walk  free  ! 

Who  shame  our  debt  by  their   rich  wealth  of  giving, 
Who  gave  themselves  for  Right  and  Liberty  ! 

Sept.,  1865. 
10 


Welcome. 


WAITING  hearts,  in  loving  pride, 
Cast  all  doubt  and  fear  aside, 
Set  your  household  portals  wide. 

Yes,  they  come  !   our  weary  night 
Changes  to  divinest  light, 
Conquerors  these  for  God  and  Right ! 

Proudly,  'neath  the  murderous  hail, 
Where  the  bravest  well  might  quail, 
They  have  rushed  as  cased  in  mail. 

While  upon  the  crimson  sod 

On  to  Victory's  height  they  trod, 

Martyr-souls  went  up  to  God. 

Pages  which  the  heart  may  read, 
Set  for  that  dark  time  of  need, 
Faces  these  which  thrill  indeed. 


no 


WELCOME.  Ill 


Faces  whom  a  swarthy  race, 
Doomed  to  uses  mean  and  base 
Watched  for  as  the  day  of  grace. 

Toilsome  marches,  wintry  air, 
Battle  scars  and  sultry  glare, 
Left  their  silent  impress  there. 

Home  and  Country,  words  of  might, 

Liberty  and  sacred  Right, 

Nerved  them  through  the  march  and  fight. 

Honor  for  the  deeds  they  wrought, 
Praises  deep  that  flow  untaught, 
Love  responding  to  their  thought; 

Golden  locks  and  silvered  hair, 
Grand  the  laurels  which  they  bear, 
Fame  and  Might  and  Truth  are  there  ! 

With  their  standards  proudly  borne, 

Waving  in  the  light  of  morn, 

Honored  still,  though  drenched  and  torn. 

Heroes  from  the  fearful  strife, 
Dearer  Sister,  Mother,  Wife, 
Honor  still  more  dear  than  Life  ! 


112  GETTYSBURG. 

Buried  deep  the  Nation's  shame, 
Prouder  laurels  may  they  claim 
Than  our  grateful  hearts  can  name. 


Freedom  —  oh,  the  sound  is  sweet! 
Hands  outstretched  and  hastening  feet, 
Make  the  victors'  joy  complete. 
May  9,  1865. 


Gettysburg. 


TO    REV.   WM.   H.   FURNESS,    WITH    A    CROSS    MADE    OF    WOOD 
AND  MOSS  FROM  THE  BATTLE-FIELD  OF  GETTYSBURG. 


I  STOOD  where,  pierced  with  shot  and  shell, 
The  forest  trees  lay  scarred  and  bare, 
Grim,  dead  memorials,  left  to  tell 
Of  horrors  hurtling  through  the  air. 

A  silent  glory  bathes  the  sky 

Late  shrouded  by  that  awful  fray  ; 

Field  after  field,  with  mountains  nigh, 
The  teeming  landscape  rolls  away. 


GETTYSBURG.  II3 


The  fringing  mist  hangs  soft  and  blue 
Across  the  path  whence  treason  fled ; 

Tall  grass  grows  green,  where,  tried  and  true, 
Are  laid  at  rest  our  Patriot  dead. 

Safe  slumbers,  'neath  the  sheltering  trees, 

The  twin  of  many  a  battle  scar ; 
Young  children's  laughter  stirs  the  breeze 

That  bore  the  cannon's  booms  afar. 

Through  the  long  street,  once  smote  with  pain, 
Whose  stones  ran  blood,  the  golden  tide 

Of  morning  ripples  night  again, 

For  Heaven  hath  flung  all  barriers  wide. 

Swords  into  ploughshares ;  all  is  calm  ; 

The  victory  won,  who  dreams  of  loss  ! 
Huzzas  melt  in  thanksgiving  psalm  ; 

From  out  the  wreck  I  shape  the  Cross ! 

His  spirit  fill  the  waiting  world, 

Who  died  that  nations  might  be  free; 

To  us,  at  last,  this  second  birth, 
The  crowning  life  of  Liberty  ! 
10*  H 


Fruition. 


AS  foolish  children  long  astray, 
Perplexed  we  catch  the  distant  light, 
Of  holier  things  than  marked  the  way 
O'er  which  we  wandered  thro'  the  night : 

Thro'  weeds  and  brambles  thickly  strowed, 
A  glimpse  of  beauty  true  and  rare, 

And  spirits  meet  us  on  the  road, 

And  say:   "  The  Father  waiteth  there!" 

What  tho',  in  trembling  doubt  and  tears, 
We  sow  at  last  the  golden  grain, 

Whose  ripened  harvest  future  years 
Shall   gather,  free  from  loss  or  pain? 

What  tho'  at  battle-heat  the  sun 

Strikes  mocking  thro'  a  misty  glare  — 

Divinest  labor  scarce  begun, 

With  heavy  hearts  and  languid  prayer  ? 

114 


FRUITION.  II5 


A  sacred  trust,  with  hopeful  face, 
Grand  Nature  holds  the  tender  seed, 

Amid  whose  sheaves  a  happier  race 

Sublimer  thoughts  of  God  may  read  — 

Amid  whose  sheaves  a  breeze  divine 

Shall  rustle  to  the  souls  of  men, 
Whereon  a  deeper  light  may  shine, 

The  midday  vision  come  again  ! 

To  us,  that  other  lives  may  reap, 
The  calm  of  patient  labor  given  — 

Invisible  to  eyes  that  weep, 

Spring  changeless  flowers  that  bloom  for  Heaven. 

A  gleam  that  is  not  of  the  morn, 

Deep  sounds  upon  the  troubled  air, 
A  blight  upon  the  trampled  corn, 

And  dearly  loved  close  banded  there. 

Oh,  Loyal  Hearts !  so  true  and  bold, 

That  tender  women  said  :    "  God  speed  !  " 

Releasing  from  a  trembling  hold, 

Dear  lives  to  meet  their  Country's  need. 


Il6  FRUITION. 


Brave  Hearts  !   the  armor  that  ye  wear 
Is  charmed  against  defeat  or  shame ; 

One  sword  is  gleaming  on  the  air 
Shall  light  the  Nation  on  to  Fame. 

No  Cloth  of  Gold,  nor  gew-gaws'  blaze, 
To  fire  the  thoughts  of  earnest  men  — 

Only  one  banner's  light  shall  raise 
Their  sinking  souls  to  life  again. 

No  champions  in  a  glitt'ring  ring, 

Where  Honor  strove  and  Beauty  crowned, 

These  Heroes  poets  still  shall  sing, 
To  eager  list'ners  grouped  around. 

No  suppliants  they  to  powers  unblest, 
To  cringe  and  bend  the  pliant  knee ; 

What  king  may  hope  the  hallowed  rest 
Of  those  who  die  for  Liberty? 

Oh  !   shame,  if,  through  the  fiery  cloud, 
That  lays  all  pride  and  coldness  bare, 

We  hear  no  voices  ringing  loud 

That  God,  and  Peace,  and  Truth  are  there. 


FRUITION.  \\J 


If,  weeping  o'er  the  noble  dead 

That  sanctify  the  battle-plain, 
We  miss  the  anthem  overhead, 

And  demons  shriek  :    "In  vain  !  in  vain  !  ' 

If  from  the  Sea  of  Thought,  that  leaves 
Rich  treasures  on  its  solemn  shore, 

No  meaning  the  dulled  heart  receives, 
And  Heaven  looks  darker  than  before  ! 

To  us  the  good  of  stiff' ring  borne, 

True  thoughts  that  make  the  spirit  free, 

A  deeper  life  a  noble  scorn, 
For  all  that  wrongs  Humanity. 

To  us  the  Faith  that  may  not  doubt 

A  Hope  slow-moulding  Earth  to  Heaven, 

And  Love,  its  messengers  sent  out, 

To  claim  the  souls  one  God  hath  given. 

To  us  the  seed-time,  murmur  not, 
To  other  hands  the  harvest  glow, 

No  dreamy,  half-enchanted  spot, 

These  waking  hearts  henceforth  may  know. 


Il8  FRUITION. 


But  graver  duties,  long  delayed, 

Once  questioned  with  a  sophist's  skill, 

Now  gleaming  thro'  the  op'ning  shade, 
We  would  at  last  indeed  fulfil. 

No  childish  task,  oh,  men  !   who  stand 
Before  the  expectant  world  to-day  — 

A  vigorous  life  throughout  the  land 
Shall  sweep  all  ling'ring  gyves  away  ; 

And  Truth,  that  makes  all  labor  light, 
Shall  mould  us  to  a  Higher  Will  — 

Come  purest  joy  or  deepest  night, 
His  Love  enfolds  the  Nation  still. 


Songs  op  Freedom. 


But  we,  whose  deep,  repented  crime, 
Once  hid  the  light  God  made  so  fair, 

But  we,  adaivn  the  aisles  of  Time, 
A  brighter  history  -will  bear. 

Oh,  Land  of  Promise  !    richly  blest, 

Through  fire  and  blood  thy  dark  sin  shriven, 
A  truer  life,  a  deeper  rest, 

To  freemen  s  hearts  shall  no%v  be  given.  —  F. 
October,  1865. 


Through  the  dull  cloud  that  lowered  above  our  head, 

By  the  black  cannon  s  mouth  His  truth  was  spoken. 
Children  no  longer,  earnest  men  instead, 

Our  baleful  rest  forez>ermore  7vas  broken. 
Stand  up  erect,  bright  sunlight  round  each  head, 

True  kings,  that  need  no  longer  blush,  my  Brothers : 
And  softly  whisper  to  our  martyred  Dead, 

"  They  gave  their  lives  to  heal  and  rescue  others  .'"  —  F. 


'Break  every  Yoke" 


1SATD,  "I  see  the  Christ  —  a  tender  glory 
Shines  thro'   the  haze  of  that  thrice-blessed  Past, 
When,  dropped  in  human  hearts,  the  immortal  story 
Was  graven  deep  to  thrill  the  world  at  last. 

"  He  lived,  the  wholly  true,  the  richly  gifted, 
Good  blossomed  in  the  arid  paths  he  trod  — 

To  those  deep  eyes  Life's  solemn  veil  was  lifted, 
Thro'   the  strange  dark  His  spirit  passed  to  God. 

'•'He  lived  —  he  died — but  where  the  destined  beauty 
To  our  poor  lives  his  holier  one  foretold  — 

Where  the  fresh  paths  of  Love  or  sterner  Duty. 
Where  walk  the  spirits  of  the  pure  and  bold?" 

Sudden  an  answer  rang  —  the  dewy  splendor 
Was  struck  from  off  the  land  by  armed  men, 

And  women,  waiting  in  their  patience  tender, 

Prayed  the  old   prayers  of  Faith  and  Hope  again. 


22  "BR  E  A  K   E  VE  R  V    YORE. 


With  a  new  might  —  to  sudden  manhood  lifted  — 
Sprang  the  pale  student  of  forgotten  lore, 

And  thro'  the  cannon's  glare,  the  gray,  the  gifted, 
Stood   face  to  face  with  living  Truth  once  more. 

Over  the  land  regenerate,  viewless  fingers 
Erase  the  laws  our  manhood  blushed  to  see, 

And  where  the  fearful  crash  of  battle  lingers, 

Write  —  "  Liberty  wherewith  Christ  maketh  free!" 

Oh,  hunted  brothers  !  wronged,  deep  scarred,  and  broken. 
Across  the  crumbling  walls  of  senseless  pride 

We  stretch  a  brother's  hand  —  the  word  is  spoken 
That  makes  ye  freemen,  battling  side  by  side ; 

And  from  broad  sunlight  to  your  deeper  shadows, 
Wherein  a  stricken  yearning  life  may  be, 

Pouring  the  oil  and  wine  —  these  rolling  meadows 
Shall  yield  diviner  bread  than  eye  may  see. 

From  dreams  of  wealth,  in  which  our  souls  delighted, 
From  lying  phantoms  to  a  living  good, 

Back  to  the  primal  laws  our  spirits  slighted, 
To  the  dear  Christ,  to  common  brotherhood, 


RIGHT.  123 


We  would  return  —  so  shall  our  mountains  glisten 
In  the  same  light  the  ancient  hill-tops  wore  — 

That  living  hymn,  to  which  the  angels  listen, 
Shall  wake  the  sceptic  world  to  faith  once  more. 

Over  our  land  there  steals  a  deeper  glory 

Than  kings,  with  all  their  power  and  pomp,  have  known; 

Heroic  lives  have  wri.*-  their  deathless  story, 
And   Freedom  claims  the  living  for  her  own. 


Right. 


ABOVE  each  mountain-top  it  shines, 
The  sacred  message  fraught  with  might; 
O'er  fertile  vale,  o'er  dusky  pines, 

The  Right,  the  grand,  unchanging  Right ! 
Above  our  marts,  beyond  our  laws, 

The  dullest  heart  perforce  must  see ; 
The  Nation  holds  a  blessed  Cause, 
This  message  comes  to  you,  to  me. 


I  24  HI G H T. 


Across  each  solemn  battle-plain 

With  swelling  hearts  we  proudly  tread, 
Where  rise  no  sheaves  of  ripening  grain, 

Our  harvest-fields  of  patriot-dead. 
Above  broad  rivers'   deepening  flow, 

O'er  trackless  forests,  tall  and  grand, 
O'er  secret  caves,  their  wealth  below, 

One  searching  message  belts  the  Land. 

A  race  is  born  ;    from  sea  to  sea 

Our  voice  is  heard  —  "It  comes  at  last, 
The  day  of  Peace  and  Liberty ; 

Thank  God,  thank  God,  the  night  is  past!" 
A  hideous  power,  that  is  not  dead, 

Grim  Treason  waits  its  final  doom ; 
By  futile  hopes,  by  malice  fed, 

It  lingers  still,  we  grant  it  room. 

Yes,  still  it  creeps  with  stealthy  pace, 

To  strike  at  least  one  coward  blow ; 
Freemen,  we  share  this  foul  disgrace, 

The  vaunted  friends  of  high  and  low. 
Ah,  Brothers,  are  we  really  free 

Till  each  can  show  his  record  white, 
A  heart  self  sworn  to  Liberty, 

To  God,  to  man,  to  sacred  Right? 


Riches. 

ONCE,  wrapt  in  sluggish  unbelief, 
We  delved  beneath  the  blessed  sky  — 
Held  dreams  were  vain,  and  gold  was  chief, 

All  honor  void,  God's  truth  a  lie. 
Our  vision  blinded,  one  by  one, 

As  shriv'lled  in  miasmic  air, 
Each  generous  thought  beneath  the  sun 

Died  out  amid  the  vapors  there  ; 
Or  if,  in  some  unwonted  tide, 

A  deeper  feeling  rose  within, 
We  thrust  the  troublous  thought  aside, 

To  clasp  anew  a  dearer  sin. 

One  deadly  wrong,  whose  shadow  fell 

Across  our  very  household  floor, 
Grim  spectre  from  the  realm  of   hell, 

Struck  death  into  our  manhood's  core. 
The  hills  stood  crumbling  at  our  will, 

The  rock-girt  Earth  her  treasures  poured  - 
The  seasons  came,  all  regal  still, 

Glad  servants  where  our  grain  was  stored ; 


26  THE    X  ATI  OX'S    MANHOOD. 

And  gazing  where  broad  rivers  flowed, 
With  hearts  of  pride  and  painful  skill, 

With  backward  steps,  along  the  road, 
We  fashioned  laws  to  human  will. 

In  vain  !  as  weeds  the  angry  blast 

Whirled  sudden  from  their  chosen  bed, 

Those  iron  laws  are  with  the  Past  — 
God's  blazing  message  writ  instead. 


The  Nation's  Manhood. 


NO  more  a  dupe  to  gilded  dross 
And  mocking  forms  the  Nation  stands, 
But  pledged  to  bear  each  heaven-sent  cross, 
With  prayerful  eyes  and  stainless  hands ; 

Pledged  still,  thro'  every  present  storm, 
To  hold  her  heavenly  birthright  fast  — 

Hid  under  every  shrinking  form 
To  own  a  brother's  claim  at  last. 


THE    NATION'S    MANHOOD.  \2J 

No  more  to  shame  that  standard  fair, 
A  groaning  world  hath  yearned  to  reach, 

That  conquering,  sacred  sign  we  bear, 
Thro'  cannon's  roar,  thro'  deadly  breach  ; 

No  more  with  Wrong  a  jocund  guest, 

All  lavish  dainties  freely  spread, 
While  at  our  gates  God's  poor,  oppressed, 

Toil,  fainting  for  their  scanty  bread  ; 

No  longer  with  unblushing  face 

To  hear  the  flatteries  idly  given, 
No  more  to  spurn  the  saving  grace, 

Translating  this  poor  Earth  to  Heaven. 

Pledged  still  to  waft  o'er  fruitful  plain, 

And  waters  white  with  laden  sails, 
An  anthem  that  shall  ring  again 

When  kingly  voice  forever  fails. 

Our  bubbles  burst,  the  glamour  past  — 

A  truer  lesson,  branded  deep, 
Fair  Freedom  in  the  van,  at  last, 

The  Nation  wakes  from  nightmare  sleep. 


Freedom. 


ON  the  black  night  of  War  and  shame, 
To  human  hearts  a  searching  flame, 
Fair  Freedom,  the  deliverer,  came. 

"  Wake,  men,  and  heed  my  earnest  call! 
God  rules,  His  Heaven  is  over  all ; 
Release  your  brother  from  his  thrall !  " 

Few  sprang  to  meet  the  vision  bright  — 
The  Upas-growth  of  Slavery's  night 
Distilled  strange  blindness  on  our  sight. 

And  still  with  doubting  voice  we  cried, 
•''Foes  pressing  close  on  every  side, 
We  dare  not  choose  thee  for  our  guide  ! 

"  Within  our  homes  the  traitors  stand, 

With  poisoning  breath,  with  stealthy  hand, 
They  break  our  power  throughout  the  Land  ! 

128 


FREEDOM.  129 


In  sterner  tones  the  Spirit  spoke, 
"  Oh,  prostrate  'neath  a  life-long  yoke, 
Awaiting  a  yet  heavier  stroke, 

"  Be  men ;    while  thunders  shake  the  sky, 
Justice  dishonored  passes  by ; 
Still  rises  up  the  slave's  low  cry. 

"  Heroic  men  your  soil  have  trod  ; 
Its  grave  is  dug;    beneath  the  sod 
Hide  this  foul  crime  accursed  of  God  ! 

"Will  ye  not  yet  His  law  fulfil, 
When  martyrs,  beautiful  and  still, 
On  crimsoned  fields  await  your  will  ? 

"With  straining  eyes  the  bondmen  wait, 
The  Rebel  tramp  goes  by  their  gate, 
The  golden  promise  tarries  late. 

"Still,  still  with  broken  speech  they  pray, 

1  The  road  is  rough,  and  dark  our  way, 

Send,  Lord,  at  last,  the  blessed  day  !  ' 

"Your  oath  shall  make  your  brother  free, 
Heaven  sends  no  other  guide  than  me  : 
God  give  your  spirits  grace  to  see!  " 
I 


Freedom's  Voice. 


ABOVE  the  battle's  fearful  din, 
I  heard  that  voice  celestial  call; 
My  soul  grew  strong,  Hope  entered  in  ; 
I  said:    "God  cares  for  great  and  small! 

"Oh,  noisy  mart,  beneath  the  skies, 
Your  treasures  vanish  one  by  one ; 
A  grander  temple  will  arise, 

Thick  set  with  gems  beneath  the  sun. 

"To  gain,  to  hold,  oh,  paltry  show! 

A  truce  with  treacherous  foes  to  keep ; 
Forbidden  still   th'  indignant  glow, 
Proscribed  that  anger  just  and  deep 

"Which  rises  when  a  brother's  wrong 

Cries  that  the  solemn  dead  might  hear; 
Lo,  Freedom  speaks,  her  power  is  strong, 
God's  truth  is  shining,  steadfast,  clear. 

130 


FREEDOM'S    VOICE.  I3I 

"  How  blest  who,  on  victorious  sod, 

Fight  the  great  battle  of  the  Free  ! 
Whose  lives  are  spent  for  man  and  God, 
Whose  dying  thought  is  Liberty. 

"  They  wrestle  with  the  powers  of  Hell; 

Their  steel  is  tried,  their  souls  are  strong ; 
A  woman,  loving  Freedom  well, 
I  only  have  the  power  of  song. 

'"Nor  wealth  nor  strength  to  aid  the  Right, 
That  makes  a  struggling  Nation  free!  " 
The  Spirit  spoke:    "If  on  thy  sight 
Shines  clear  the  light  of  Liberty, 

"  Thrice  blest,  while  thousands  sink  with  doubt. 
What  means  this  sudden,  strange  distrust? 
Canst  fear  to  speak  the  message  out, 

Sent  straight  from  Heaven,  to  kindred  dust?" 

My  soul  stood  up,  "  Come  joy,  come  shame, 
One  in  the  still  increasing  throng, 

Who  feels  a  hated  brother's  claim, 
I  own  the  Right,  abhor  the  Wrong  ! 


132  FREEDOM'S    VOICE. 

"If,  haply,  on  a  careless  ear, 

Some  cadence  linger  clear  and  true, 
I  only  speak  the  things  all  hear 
Who  listen,  Freedom,  unto  you." 

She  comes,  a  glory  on  the  air, 

She  bends  above  our  martyrs'  graves. 

And,  pointing  to  a  Future  fair, 

She  claims  the  race  long  crushed  as  slaves. 

Oh,  brothers,  standing  'neath  the  folds 
That  wave  so  grand  in  Freedom's  light, 

Rest  only  that  the  life  she  holds 
May  pass  anew  before  your  sight, 

That,  ravished  with  the  hope  she  brings, 

Your  hearts  grow  large,  and  strong,  and  true ; 

That,  drinking  from  diviner  springs, 
The  Nation's  life  be  shaped  anew ! 


Free  Men  at  Last. 


A  WORD  of  hope,  a  word  of  fear, 
That  lowering  traitors  quailed  to  hear, 
The  Nation's  pledge  rang  loud  and  clear. 

The  winds  its  glorious  burden  bore, 

It  swept  the  Land  from  shore  to  shore  — 

All  men  are  free  for  evermore  !  ' ' 

A  subtile  power,  that  would  not  stay, 
Through  Rebel  towns,  through  forests  gray, 
Through  dreary  swamps  it  sped  away. 


Still  followed  by  the  Nation's  prayer, 
Made  strong,  at  last,  to  do  and  dare, 
And  Freedom  was  the  watchword  there. 


No  longer  dumb,  the  Truth  held  fast, 
The  spell  is  o'er;  War's  scathing  blast 
Discrowns  our  tyrant  foe  at  last ! 


34  FREE    MEN   AT   LAST. 

Oh,  friends,  on  this  thrice-glorious  day, 
The  curse  of  bondage  swept  away, 
God  give  us  grace  with  truth  to  say : 

"In  memory  still  of  One  who  died, 
No  thought  of  self,  no  narrow  pride, 
Shall  keep  us  from  a  brother's  side. 

"  Henceforth  we  walk  the  path  He  trod  ; 
The  ground  we  touch  is  hallowed  sod, 
Transfigured  in  the  truth  of  God  !  " 
July  4,  1865. 


Poems  of  the  Spirit. 


Oh,  Brave  and  True  of  countless  creeds, 

At  farthest  pole ,  'neath  tropic  sun, 
If  striving  towards  Immortal  Needs, 

With  prayer  exult — your  part  is  done. 

The  Past  a  servant  at  your  feet, 
The  Present  changing  as  you  gaze ; 

While  prophet  forms  with  voices  sweet 
Float  thro'  the  Unfathomcd  Future's  ways. — F. 


The  depths  behind,  below  —  through  Heaven  s  sweet  kindness 
I  taste  tli£  joy  of  Life,  no  more  its  sadness. 

So  would  I  live — freed  from  dim  clouds  of  blindness  — 
To  />rove  the  deeper  sanctity  of  Gladness. — F. 


My  Spirit-Mother. 

Only  a  change  to  deeper,  richer  life  instead; 
Love  is  divine,  immortal ;   lo,  there  are  no  Dead ! 

GONE    long,  dark    days    of    Childhood's   strange   de- 
spairing, 
No  longer  hid  the  glory  of  the  day ; 
With  younger  heart,  a  fresher  spring-time  wearing, 
Than  when  beneath  those  shadows  passed  away. 

God  seemed  so  far   I  could  not  know  His  kindness ; 

With  love  no  curious  eye  may  ever  see, 
Through  all  the  shadows  of  this  mortal  blindness, 

My  spirit  rises   to  commune  with  thee. 

Once,  in  the  anguish  of   that  earthly  parting, 

Rose  to  thy  lips  prophetic  cry  of  pain. 
Blossoms  an  answer,  in  thy  soul  upstarting, 

Oh,  Best-Beloved,  why  I  on  earth  remain? 

12*  ,37 


I  38  M  V  SPIR  I  T-  M  O  THE  R. 

I  know  that,  safe  within  broad,  sacred  portals, 
Nearer  to  God,  undimmed  thy  spirit  stands, 

One  in  the  shining  host  of  true  immortals, 
Forevermore  within  those  shining  bands. 

No  bitter  memory,  no  repented  murmur, 
Intrudes  to  dim  my  shining  dream  of  thee ; 

Years  only  make  this  tender  love-bond  firmer, 
But  make  more  sure  thy  immortality. 

I  would,  for  thy  dear  sake,  a  vision  rarer, 
A  truer  heart  to  lift  in  prayer  were  mine  ; 

I  would  the  record  of  my  life  were  fairer, 
To  read  with  that  unselfish  one  of  thine. 

All  that  is  deep  beneath  this  voice  that  falters, 
Aught  that  is  pure  and  fair  amid  the  shade, 

As  worshippers  bring  tribute  to  their  altars, 
Lost  Mother,  on  thy  viewless  shrine  is  laid  ! 

So  far,  so  near,  within  God's  tender  keeping 
Both  spirits  wait  —  I  know  but  this,  no  more; 

Till,  free  from  earthly  pain,  from  mortal  weeping, 
We  meet,  at  last,  on  a  diviner  shore. 


Father. 

"  For  all  the  boundless  Universe  Is  Life." 

1  LOOKED  my  last  on  a  beloved  Face, 
In  the  same  room  where  oft  he  sat  and  talked  to  me  ', 
A  silence  folded  the  familiar  place, 
The  brooding  hush  of  Immortality  ! 

It  shrined  him,  like  a  king,  with  silver  hair 

For  crown  — all  the  wide  Future  for  his  new  born-state. 

Across  the  solemn  whiteness  imaged  there, 
I  read  clear  entrance  past  a  troublous  fate. 

He  is  not  dead,  whose  whiteness,  slowly  borne, 

Was  strangely  laid  in  earth  at  rest  that  wintry  day ; 

The  face  I  kissed  will  never  more  return  — 
From  all  repression,  pain,  God  oped  the  way. 

139 


I4O  FATHER. 


His  way,  not  ours !     A  picture  comes  once  more 
Of  the  dear  head,  one  day,  uplifted,  as  I  came; 

His  hand  sought  mine,  as  thro'  an  open  door 
Soul  spoke  to  soul,  of  things  we  rarely  name. 

A  light  I  never  saw  before  was  on  his  face, 

A  glad  heart-music  in  the  voice,  so  young  and  low, 

As  holding  me  within  a  half  embrace, 

He  spoke  of  her  he  loved  —  so  long  ago  ! 

Oh,  Heart,  so  good,  so  rare,  so  strange  perplex'd, 

I  shared  that  tender  joy,  just  entering  on  your  peace  ! 

This  world  is  sweet,  and  yours  and  mine  The  Next ; 
My  heart  most  happy  in  your  glad  release  ! 


A  Wish. 


WHEN  I  am  dead,  let  not  the  organ  peal 
In  deep  and  solemn  tones  above  my  bier, 
Nor  light  hearts  throb  in  silent  agony 

O'er  the  still  form  of  her  they  once  held  dear. 

When  I  am  dead,  may  no  proud  pillar  rear 
Its  head  triumphant  o'er  a  child  of  clay, 

Telling  to  many  a  careless  passer-by, 

That  from  the  earth  my  soul  has  passed  away. 

But,  far  from  hurrying  life,  lay  me  at  rest 

Where  some  old  woodland  tree  its  shade  may  fling, 

And  o'er  the  simple  stone  that  bears  my  name 
May  flowers  that  I  have  loved  and  tended  spring. 

I  ask  alone  the  silent,  heartfelt  tear, 

Which  leaves  no  deep,  embittered  trace  behind, 
And  as  a  requiem  for  my  parted  soul, 

The  mournful,  low-toned  music  of  the  wind. 

141 


Apostleship. 


WHAT,  though  mc 
(Through  God'« 


more  perfect  seed  of  Truth  we  fling, 
(Through  God's  deep,  present  grace,) 
Lies  long  in  earth,  awaits  a  future  spring, 

To  glorify  the  race  ! 
This  seed  is  earnest  of  the  harvest  sure ; 

Nor  how,  nor  when,  nor  where 
God  breathes  into  each  soul  a  vital  cure, 

He  trusts  not  to  our  care. 
Trusts  not,  yet  makes  us  heralds  of  the  light, 

Shadows  of  Healing  sweet, 
To  bid  the  devils  sink  in  deepest  night 

Men,  cleansed,  rise  up  complete. 
He  sends  us,  laden  with  a  quickening  thought, 

Our  scrip,  glad  hope,  true  cheer, 
Anoints  unworthy  hearts  Himself  hath  sought, 

To  make  His  Kingdom  clear. 

142 


The  Higher  Law. 


UNDER  written  code  of  men, 
Sickly  lives  are  hid  and  propped  ; 
Dying  praised,  the  deep  Amen 
Sounds  by  upturned  earth,  and  then 
Pause  —  and  mockeries  stopped  ! 

Still  the  unguessed  cripples  go, 

And  the  blind  with  wavering  will 
Find  no  sweet  Bethsaida  flow, 
Feel  no  Presence  answering  low, 
From  His  meadows  still. 

Yet  across  their  wandering  track, 

Flame  unseen,  diviner  laws, 
Come  pure  hearts  to  win  them  back, 
Angels  to  their  soul's  deep  lack, 
Helpers  in  Christ's  cause! 


143 


144  FAITH. 


Grand,  clear  Light !   that  maketli  free 
Out  of  hearing,  out  of  sight, 

Fit  for  better  worlds  to  see, 

Heirs  of  Immortality, 
Guide  all  hearts  aright ! 


Faith. 


Oil,  envy  not  the  prophet's  glance, 
The  poet  blest,  nor  saint  divine, 
The  grand  reformer's  svverveless  lance, 
If,  haply,  God's  great  world  is  thine. 

If,  step  by  step,  in  worldless  trust, 
Some  dim,  yet  Heaven-directed  way, 

A  radiant  shadow  on  its  dust, 

Thou  walkest  towards  perpetual  day  ! 

What  though  the  awful  Future  blazed 
Across  the  Phantom- shore  of  Time, 

That  stirring  voice  in  song  was  raised, 
And  martyrs  passed   in  joy  sublime  ! 


INFLUENCE.  1 45 


These  shadow  forth  the  eternal  laws, 
Untraceable  in  crumbling  stone, 

These  do  but  hint  the  Viewless  Cause, 
But  dimly  hint  of  God  alone  ! 

Thank  Him,  that  shrined  in  kindred  clay, 
Such  blessed  rays  forever  shine, 

With  stronger  heart  pursue  thy  way, 
He  oped  their  path  —  He  ruleth  thine! 


Influence. 

For,  by  the  flashing  forth  of  the  spirit  within,  be  its  light  heavenly 
or  lurid,  do  we  help  or  hinder  souls  around  us. 

FOR  good  or  ill ;  beycnd  all  hope  or  praying 
Our  shadows  fall, 
Despite  each  pretext,  duly-measured  saying, 
And  past  recall. 

For  good  or  ill;  to  aid   towards  clearer  vision, 

A  grander  scope, 
Or,  shrivelling  joy,  to  make  this  Earth  a  prison, 

Barring  out  Hope. 
13  K 


46  I  NFL  UENCE. 


For  good  or  ill ;  to  bring  parched  land  green  glory, 

Whence  glad  streams  run, 
Or,  like  a  spectre  in  ill-omened  story, 

Make  dark  the  sun. 

For  good  or  ill ;  the  mystery  of  our  being 

We  cannot  reach  ;  « 

The  subtile  life  within  is  past  our  seeing, 
And  baffles  speech. 

We  build,  unconscious,  shrines,  where  souls  may  enter, 

Where  blessings  fall, 
Or,  cleave  a  new-born  sweetness  to  its  centre, 

To  mar  it  all. 

O'erleaping,  undercreeping  all  our  speeches, 

Beyond  our  ken, 
Something  of  what  we  are  comes  forth,  and  reaches 

The  souls  of  men  ! 


Angels. 

OH,  thou  that  read'st,  with  troubled  eyes  and  yearning, 
Of  saints  and  men  of  old, 
Around  whose  path  angelic  forms  returning, 

Dropped  fire  when  faith  waxed  cold  — 
Brighter  than  those  in  patriarch's  dream  descending 

Through  the  deep,  starry  blue, 
'Round  each  lone  worshipper  in  thought  ascending, 
Gather  the  angels,  too. 

Gazing  through  windows  of  the  Past,  whose  glory 

The  Architect  Divine 
Crystalled  in  glowing  forms  and  thrilling  story, 

Wherein  His  Sun  might  shine. 
Alas  !  for  thee,  blind  votary  of  that  splendor 

Turning  dim  Earth  to  Heaven, 
If,  crushing  under  foot  some  token  tender 

The  bounteous  King  hath  given, 

H7 


I48  AXGELS. 


Thou  seest  only  where  gray  silence,   falling, 

Shapes  to  itself  a  throne, 
The  living  sign,  and  hear'st  angels  calling, 

Through  the  far  Past  alone  ! 
These  messengers  of  God  !  in  each  heart-beating 

That  still  dilates  —  each  thrill 
Deep  Nature  wakes,  her  holy  lays  repeating, 

Speak  His  dear  envoys  still. 

Oh  !   Child  of  Him,  whose  promise,  earthward  bending, 

Shapes  the  prophetic  bow, 
Deeper  and  fresher  rays  thy  heart  attending, 

In  spirit  bending  low, 
Pour  through  a  thankful,  earnest  heart  the  blessing 

Lips  vainly  strive  to  tell, 
True  angels  round  thy  way  with  awe  confessing, 

To  warn  and  guide  thee  well. 

Never  from  mausoleum  grand  and  hoary, 

The  angel  plumes  his  wings, 
From  Heaven  direct,  a  fresh,  celestial  story, 

To  some  wrapt  heart  he  brings. 
Wouldst  prove  the  power  that  seeks  some  open  portal, 

Poor,  human  though  it  be? 
With  smile  that  melts  thy  heart,  oh,  blind  immortal, 

He  bends  to  make  thee  free. 


AXGELS.  149 

Free  from  all  fever-heat  —  the  brooding  morrow, 

Thy  little  world's  half  sneer, 
From  haunting  ghosts  of  weakness,  shame,  and  sorrow, 

From  envious  thought  or  fear ; 
All  lowly  things  of  Earth  bud  forth  in  beauty, 

Where  his  true  shadow  falls, 
And  rises  Heaven -high  each  simple  duty, 

Grand  as  cathedral  walls. 

Into  thy  hand  the  mystic  key  is  given, 

Whence  light  streams  full  and  free, 
In  thine  own  soul  may  glow  a  deeper  Heaven 

Than  outer  eye  may  see. 
Wouldst  turn  from  daily  ministrants  and  duty, 

That  folds  a  spirit-crown, 
To  sigh — and  ravished  with  its  solemn  beauty, 

In  the  lost  Past  lie  down? 

13* 


My  Heritage. 


1   CLAIM  my  birthright,  every  thought  of  good 
Remotest  Time  may  proffer  to  the  sight, 
Each  hint,  by  bard  or  prophet  understood, 

All  tones  that  teach  of  God   and  breathe  His  might 

Believing  revelations  all  divine 

That  through  the  Present  just  as  strangely  run, 
Wherein  each  daily  life  may  feel  the  sign 

Of   Heaven,  transfiguring  simplest  duty  done. 

I  claim  my  birthright ;    neither  bolt  nor  bar 
Across  my  heritage  of   Heaven  or  Earth  \ 

Visions  immortal,  striving  from  afar, 

Thoughts  that  attest  the  soul's  diviner  birth. 

Beauty  that  glows  on  meadow,  stream,  and  tree, 
Radiance  of  starlight,  glory  of  the  day, 

All  better  thoughts,  the  gift  of  God  to  me, 
Who  gives,  with  royal  grace,  His  best  away  ! 

150 


The  Love  oe  God. 


OH,    wondrous  power,  that  drives  us  from  the  place 
Our  feet  perverse  so  dangerously  have  trod, 
Enfolding  still,  within  that  strong  embrace, 
In  heavenward  drawing,  mighty  Love  of  God  ! 

Broader  than  heaven,  deeper  than  soundless  sea, 
That  hems  us  in  and  will  not  let  us  go ; 

A  yearning  thought,  from  which  we  cannot  flee, 
A  voice  divine,  that  whispers  sweet  and  low. 

Piercing  even  hells  our  sevenfold  sins  have  made, 
With  iron  walls  that  bar  the  light  of  morn, 

It  comes  —  a  shining  sword — we  shrink  dismayed, 
Yet  wrestle  upward  till  we  greet  the  dawn. 

Oh,  Love  of  God  !  we  babble  still  of  wrath, 
Hiding  us  in  the  dust,  and  will  not  rise 

To  read  the  daily  message  in  our  path, 
To  eat  the  daily  manna  from  the  skies. 

151 


152  ODE. 

Oh,  Love  of  God  !  that  lends  a  deeper  glow 
To  every  sunset,  tints  each  flower  anew, 

And  to  our  spirit  sends  its  overflow, 

To  fructify  our  being  through  and  through. 

Possess  me,  mould  me,  that  the  truest,  best, 

May  shine  before  me  where  Thy  Son  hath  trod, 
That,  o'er  my  daily  thought  and  dream  of  rest, 

May  brood  thy  presence,  changeless  Love  of  God  ! 


Ode. 


OH,   Soul,  it  needeth  no  transcendent  vision 
Of  angels  floating  o'er  a  dazzling  shore, 
To  prove  thy  heritage  in  scenes  Elysian, 

Beyond  Earth's  jarring  and  deep  Ocean's  roar  ; 
No  sudden  rending  of   thy  narrow  prison, 

Nor  voice  mysterious  from  the  couch  of  peace 
Where  dust  meets  dust ;    the  flowers,   all  newly  risen, 
Glowing  with  gladness  at  their  bright  release. 


ODE.  i : 


5J 


By  the  green  glory  and  the  changing  splendor 

Of  this  fair  Earth,  that  to  the  pulsing  grass 
Giveth  her  life,  in  motherhood  so  tender, 

Under  the  starlight  men  so  coldly  pass, 
Through  strains  of   Music,  holy  in  their  pleasure, 

Thrilling  the  heart  as  by  a  viewless  chain, 
Through  feelings  new  that  float  along  the  measure, 

As  Earth  were  linked  to  Paradise  again. 

By  the  strange  power  that,  in  its  noiseless  sweeping, 

Leaves  man  and  outer  things  so  far  below  ; 
By  thy  self-wronging,  oh,  my  soul,  and  weeping, 

Pours  the  glad  truth  resistless  in  its  flow  ; 
By  this  deep  life  —  born  of  a  silent  sorrow  — 

Hid  from  the  blighting  of  an  earthly  air; 
By  the  Dear  Names,  that  hang  the  immortal  morrow 

All  over  with  the  beauty  angels  wear ; 

Thus,  oh,  my  spirit,  by  the  ceaseless  token 
Of  a  thin  curtain  'twixt  thy  realm  and  me, 

By  every  cloud  that  hides  the  light  unbroken, 
Cometh  the  knowledge  that  is  "part  of  thee  ! 


"  AND  HE   Til  A  T  SEE  Til  ME 

Seeth  Him  that  Sent  Me" 


TRANSCENDING  every  childish,  crude    tradition, 
Cold  on  the  soul  this  lay  of  life  will  fall, 
Till  in  the  heart  we  recognize  His  mission, 
Who  came,  indeed,  to  claim  and  save  us  all. 

To  claim  through  the  deep  sense  of  higher  beauty, 
Shaming  our  estimates,  our  worldly  dross, 

To  cleanse  through  our  new-pulsing  thought  of   Duly, 
That  glorified,  for  aye,  the  accursed  Cross. 

To  save  from  sins  by  drawing  us  above  them, 
Nearer  the  shining  level  where  He  stood, 

Who,  living,  dying,  said  of  men,  "I  love  them; 
Our  Father  sends  the  world  celestial  good." 

It  needs  no  outward  sight  to  feel  His  glory, 
No  sceptic  touch  of  wounds  nor  robe  as  then, 

Still  fresh  as  Heaven,  thro'  all  the  ages  hoary, 
He  lives  forever  in  the  souls  of  men. 

i54 


THE     WIDOW'S    MITE.  155 

Lives  to  redeem,  true  Saviour,  Friend,  and  Brothei, 
His  soul  made  radiant  that  our  own  may  see, 

In  Christ  the  fulness  given  to  no  other, 
The  gift  divine  the  Father  sends  to  thee  ! 


The  Widows  Mite. 


ALONE,  obscure,  amid  the  glittering  crowd, 
With  trembling  haste,  her  treasured  all  she  cast 
To  others'  need.     Who  notes  the  act  aloud? 

The  Prince  of  Love  and  Light,  who  that  day  passed  ! 

Eternal  gift !     Her  sweet,  true  deed  has  come 

Down  through  the  centuries,  with  the  light  divine 

In  which  Christ  wrapt  it,  and  no  heart  so  dumb 
But  feels  the  spirit  through  that  outward  sign. 

The  throng  has  vanished,  just  this  golden  thread 
Of  sympathy  irradiates  that  distant  day; 

Of  all  the  treasure  this  remains  instead  — 
She  gave,  and  from  her  heart,  her  all  away ! 


Bethesda. 

"  For  an  angel  went  clown  at  a  ceitain  season  into  the  pool,  and 
troubled  the  water." — John  v.  4. 

T^AR-OFF  Jerusalem  !   in  spirit-keeping 
1      We  guard  thy  story  with  most  reverent  care, 
Waiting,  'mid  halt  and  blind,  the  time  slow-stealing, 
That  brings,  at  last,  the  healing  angel  there. 

We  see  the  bubbling  water  rise  for  saving, 

Gaze  with  the  crowd,  that  feel  the  silent  grace 

Welling  from  Earth,  in  that  mysterious  laving, 

Where  Christ  stands  with  the  gathering,  face  to  face. 

So  we  believe,  with  awe  upon  our  faces  — 

Then  sigh,  turn  from  the  throng  to  haunts  of  men, 

Knowing  not  healing  in  familiar  places, 
Unconscious  that  the  angel  comes  again, 

And  goes,  alas  !  the  story  without  ending, 

When,  in  our  soul's  strange  blindness,  prone  we  lie, 

To  let  each  winged  chance  that  God  is  sending 
To  our  weak  hearts,  Bethesda-like,  drift  by ! 

156 


Near  to  Us. 

"  fie  is  not  far  from  any  one  of  us,  for  in  Him  we  live  and  move, 
and  have  our  being." 

SUCH  differing  voices  cavil  in  my  ear, 
I  would  claim  Truth  and  live. 
Within  my  soul  the  Spirit  answered  clear  : 
"Thou  hast  it  — Give." 

;'Alas,  alas,  but  in  such  scanty  store, 

And  mine  this  faltering  speech." 
Still  that  low  answer:    "  Wouldst  indeed  have  more? 
Believing,  Teach." 

*  Teach  !    I  who  fain  would  wait  for  fuller  song, 
A  deeper  range  and  wide!" 
Still,  still  the  answer:    "Wouldst  indeed  be  strong? 
Lo,  here  thy  Guide  ! 

"Throw  wide  the  living  temple  to  my  light, 
So  wilt  thou  understand 
Deep  things,  beyond  the  ken  of  sense  or  sight, 
Yet  near  at  hand." 
14  i57 


E very-day  Character 

Is  growth  divine,  and  who  shall  say, 

"  Mine  is  the  work,"  to  God,  who  thrills  our  clay  ? 

PATIENCE  preach  for  others'  slips? 
Lo,  I  take  it  for  my  own, 
Speak  the  word  with  reverent  lips, 

Meant  in  deepest  undertone. 
For  our  virtues  —  more  or  few  — 

Let  them  swell,  in  God's  own  time, 
Surest  blossoms,  piercing  true, 
Hardest  clod,  untoward  clime. 

Digging  not  to  see  them  grow ; 

Only  standing,  meekly  bold, 
For  the  Spirit's  overflow, 

Rich  with  seed  of  power  untold. 
Doing  just  the  daily  good, 

Knocking  softly  at  our  door ; 
Sweet  deliv'rer,  long  withstood, 

Proffering  life  to  rich  and  poor. 

158 


ANCHORAGE.  1 59 


Giving  the  Great  Helper  scope, 

As  a  waiting  instrument, 
So  to  thrill  with  deeper  hope, 

Strike  the  chord  of  rich  content ; 
Letting  all  our  problems  stand 

Till  the  coming  light  shall  sweep, 
Bright,  eternal,  over  land 

Just  beyond  our  seeming  sleep  ! 


Anchorage. 


NO  chances  for  the  soul's  best  freightage  sweet? 
His  wind  shall  waft  it,  favoring  channels  strangely 
bear  ; 
God's  certainty  enwraps.     His  angels  fleet 

Strong  in  their  prescience,  lightly  mock  our  half-despair. 

A  ship,  long  waited,  silent  cleaves  the  sea, 
'Neath  stars,  now  starless,  flecked  with  storm  and  speed- 
ing foam, 
Glides  on,  till,  moving  deep,  uprising  free, 

Some  heart,  exultant,  cries:     "  At  last,  at  last,  come 
home!" 


New  Forces. 

In  the  past  God  spoke  —  What  then  ! 
Evermore  He  speaks  to  men. 


'PHE  world,  with  new  force  rousing,  clear  and  sweet, 

A     Athwart  the  creeds,  a  Voice  Divine  will  ring, 
A  large,  bright  faith.     Why,  Soul,  in  far  retreat 
Of  cave  or  temple,  miss  its  glimmering ! 

O'er  soul  of  all  the  Holy  Spirit  broods, 

To  touch  this  daily  path  with  quick' ning  breath. 

Why  tarry  in  the  Past,  its  solitudes, 

Where  prophets  cried,  still  consecrate,  in  death  ! 

This  common  life  of  ours  must  hold  the  seed 
Wherein  lie  hid  all  glory,  beauty,  strength, 

That  all  the  ages,  all  the  saints  shall  need, 

To  bridge  the  space  'twixt  Earth  and  Heaven  at  length. 

I  faintly  see,  amid  old  tombs  no  more, 

A  flitting  ghost  —  I  seek  the  Heavenly  Bread  ; 

For  garments  clasp,  His  Best-Anointed  wore, 
I  stretch  my  hand,  to  feel  God's  touch  instead  ! 

1 60 


My  Thought. 


INTO  my  heart,  and  into  my  brain, 
Comes  the  same  message  again,  again, 
Insulate  far  from  the  world's  drear  pain. 

Filling  my  soul  with  new  rays  of  light, 
Quick' ning  my  spirit  with  sense  of  sight, 
Giving  my  feebleness  glow  of  might. 

Just  one  Thought,  that  the  Spirit's  Decree, 
Neither  through  Book  nor  by  bended  knee, 
Comes  in  its  own,  truest  majesty. 

Worship  and  Book,  these  will  still  remain, 
To  quicken  feet  towards  another's  pain,  • 
To  wipe  from  our  record  sloth  and  stain. 

Bended  knee  and  the  Book  of  Grace, 
Anchorage  glad  in  true  life  of  the  race, 
Hunger  and  food,  will  still  claim  place. 
14  *  L  161 


62  COMPENSATION. 

Anchorage  only,  that,  bold  and  free, 
Rested,  our  ships  will  go  out  to  sea, 
That  fishers  of  men  our  spirits  be. 

Under  the  dawning,  far  in  the  night, 
Under  His  stars,  new  reading  in  sight, 
Brave  for  His  presence,  seeking  more  light. 

Children  once  aliens,  at  length  we  stand 
Claiming  estate  in  the  promised  land  — 
Who  shall  frustrate  what  our  God  hath  planned  ? 


CO  MP  ENS  A  TION. 

For  Fatience  was  the  lesson  writ ; 
And,  through  God's  grace,  I  mastered  it. 

F'ROM  that  one  virtue,  which  my  life  seemed  set  to  win, 
With  wondering  thought,  half  pain, 
I   turn  away;   for,  lo  !   the  happy  light  flows  in, 
And  careless  peace  shall  reign. 

I  know  that  He  who,   tireless,  brought   me  through   the 
gloom, 

To  happier  place  and  mood, 
As  surely  set  sweet  Compensation  in  its  room, 

And   now  wills  Gratitude ! 


The  Flowers  oe  Hope  and  Trust. 


HIS  garden  still,  this  blossoming  world  of  ours  — 
Sweet  bird-songs  ringing  on  the  spring-time  air; 
His  garden  still,  tho'  storms  grow  with  the  flowers, 
And  many  a  tangled  heath  lies  gray  and  bare. 

Lo,   in  the  midst  our  gods  of  wood  and  clay 
We  rear  with  eager  hearts  and  blinded  will ; 

They  crumble  into  dust,  or  only  stay 

To  mock  us  through  green  leaves  the  shadows  still. 

And  mysteries  girt  us  close  on  every  side, 
The  deepest,  He  who  sendeth  all  the  rest. 

We  question  —  never  yet  that  voice  replied, 
Only  His  silent  wisdom  stands  confessed. 

Oh,  Spirit  of  Pain,  I  cannot  understand 

His  purposes  who  sends  thee  heart  and  will, 

Rebel  both  baffled,  yet  one  Master  Hand 

Sweeps  all  the  chords  of  life,  and  I  am  still ! 

I  only  know  the  flowers  of  Hope  and  Trust 
Each  trembling  heart  may  gather  by  the  way, 

That  thro'  all  restless  pain  His  ways  are  just, 

Who  sends  the  morning's  glow,  the  twilight  gray. 

163 


The  Inner  Key. 

"And  they  were  all  filled  with  the   Holy  Ghost." 

IT  needs  no  blaze  of  Pentecostal  flame 
To  lend  our  human  hearts  the  inner  key ; 
God's  presence  and  His  touch  are  still  the  same, 
We  only  lack  the  clearer  eyes  to  see. 

By  ways  we  know  not  are  our  spirits  led, 
Up,  up  the  Mount  of  Vision,  till  we  stand 

Most  silently  when  most  our  souls  are  fed, 
Claiming  our  heritage  on  every  hand. 

The  miracles  of  Earth,  and  Air,  and  Sea, 
More  wonderful  than  in  the  days  of  old, 

Encircle  all  our  paths;  God's  Spirit  free, 
Brings  daily  answers  to  the  true  and  bold. 

No  sinners  curst,  blest  heirs  of  Heaven  are  we ; 

His  Spirit,  striving  through  our  human  clay, 
Writes  a  new  page  of  sacred  history, 

As  Life  runs  on  in  its  diviner  way. 

164 


THE    INNER    KEY.  165 

When  we  think  not,  His  revelations  come, 
Awaiting  not  our  groove  in  church  or  creed  ; 

Though  benedictions  on  our  lips  be  dumb, 
The  Father  claims  us  in  our  barren  need. 

On  the  far  hill-top,  in  the  daily  talk, 

On  summer-wind,  His  Spirit  large  and  free, 

Or  where  I  think  alone  to  sit  or  walk, 

May  gently  wait,  and  speak  or  question  me. 

As  in  the  life  of  One  who  walked  the  Earth 

In  distant  days,  the  gates  of  Heaven  stood  wide, 

So  we,  attesting  the  diviner  birth, 

May,  here  and  now,  draw  angels  to  our  side. 

Angels  in  better  thoughts,  a  countless  host ; 

On  the  heart's  altar  mounts  a  deeper  glow ; 
Far  off  and  dim  the  light  of  Pentecost; 

Clear,  sweet  and  near,  the  Spirit's  overflow. 


The  Grace  of  God: 


THROUGH  the  unrest  that  mocks  the  joys  of  sense, 
.  O'er  the  deep  void  unfilled; 
Through  weariness  Earth  cannot  recompense, 

Heaven's  freshness  is  distilled. 
Not  as  thou  deemest,  Soul,  in    wondrous   power 

That  wraps  thee  evermore, 

Nor  through  the  vision  of  ecstatic  hour, 

Where  angel  forms  adore  ; 

Not  through  that  lore  that  human  hands  have  traced 

To  prove  its  beauty  rare  — 
In  living  lines,  that  shall  not  be  effaced, 

Record  its  annals  fair. 
Canst  heed  the  logic,  eloquent  and  proud, 

That  charmed  th'  enraptured  ear, 
When  in  lone  agony  thy  head  is  bowed 

Above  a  loved  one's  bier? 

1 66 


"THE    GRACE    OE   GOD."  \6j 

What  the  rich  trac'ry  of  earth's  temples,  reared 

In  pomp  of  boastful  art, 
To  one  true  feeling  through  the  life  revered, 

Inscribed  upon  the  heart. 
Oh  !    human  soul,  irresolute  and  cold, 

Expectant  of  a  sign  — 
Deep  sympathies  aroused,  the  life  unfold, 

Thou  namest  well  "divine." 

Think  not  o'er  narrow  line  of  Forms  alone, 

Nor  paths  by  zealots  trod, 
Falls  the  unuttered  beauty  hearts  would  own, 

The  mystic  grace  of   God. 
O'erlooked,  because  so  near,  dim  eyes  we  strain, 

And  Heaven  seems  far  and  cold. 
Do  mysteries,  or  raptures  blent  with  pain, 

The  long-sought  gift  enfold  ? 

Softer  than  raindrop  on  the  yearning  flowers, 

Or  dream  to  restless  pain  — 
Deeper  than  life  in  most  bewild'ring  hours, 

Cometh  the  priceless  gain  ! 
Oh  !    blinded  vision,  on  the  silent  air 

God's  ceaseless  myst'ries  fall, 
And  Nature  gives  her   beautiful  and  rare, 

Responsive  to  His  call. 


l68  "THE    GRACE    OF   GOD." 

The  prisoned  Soul,  through  walls  of  clay  and  sense, 

Hath  messages  divine, 
To  thrill  its  darkness  with  a  light  intense 

Beyond  illumined  shrine  ! 
They  come  through  tender  deeds,  rough,  toiling  hands 

Unconsciously  have  done  — 
Through  the  deep  pathos,  that  unheeded  stands, 

Where  reckless  wealth  is  won  ; 

Thro'  the  unfathomed  depths  of  love  and  life, 

The  poet-heart  may  know, 
While  the  rude  clangor  of  a  worldly  strife 

Jars  strangely  to  and  fro ; 
Thro'  thoughts  so  simple,  that  a  smile  may  come 

Where  grateful  prayer  should  be  — 
Incredulous  —  let  not  thy  voice  be  dumb, 

God's  gift  hath  come  to  thee  ! 

Thro'  the  deep  scorning  of  all  base  and  mean, 

Whose  fetters  some  may  wear ; 
Through  the  keen  sense  of  glories  never  seen, 

Beyond  these  realms  of  air ; 
Thro'  a  true  spirit,  o'er  the  shining  ways 

By  holy  feet  once  trod  ; 
Thro'  buried  gifts  evoked  to  living  praise, 

Thus  comes  "the  Grace  of  God!" 


The  Invisibles  Render  us  Happier. 


IF,  as  a  voice  once  prophesied,  this  glory 
Touching  all  life  must  fade, 
Or  as  a  dim  and  scarce  remembered  story 

Flit  mocking  through  the  shade ; 
If,  ere  the  brown  above  my  forehead  whitens, 

Dim  hoar  shall  change  the  hue, 
In  which  the  tangled  path  of  life  now  brightens, 
Heaven's  radiance  stealing  through ; 

If,  from  the  spirit-heights,  my  soul  in  gaining 

Through  lonely  pain  hath  striven, 
Back  to  the  vale  of  care  and  weak  complaining 

With  folded  wings  be  driven ; 
While  to  this  heart  the  beautiful,  the  tender, 

Steal  soft  as  summer  days, 
Luring  my  nature  to  a  free  surrender, 

Poured  forth  in  loving  praise  — 

15  169 


I70  THE    INVISIBLES 

While  on  the  simple  words  of  daily  hearing 

Float  angels  unaware, 
And  hints  of  beauty  in  the  grass  appearing, 

Enrich  tlie  common  air; 
While  still  I  feel  a  kindred  nature,  burning, 

At  deeds  beyond  my  own, 
And  still  the  rounded  years,  in  their  returning, 

Speak  with  a  richer  tone. 

Before  the  iron  creed  of  worldly  schemer 

Hath  shed  its  bitter  rust, 
Burying  the  treasure  of  a  happy  dreamer 

Beneath  its  shrouding  dust  — 
While  still  this  waking  soul,  from  peaceful  sleeping, 

Yearns  towards  the  rising  day, 
Come,  radiant  Death  !    ere  shadows  subtly  creeping, 

Sweep  my  soul's  life  away  ! 

Earth  were  indeed  the  spot  of  dull,  blank  sorrow, 

Sepulchral  voices  claim, 
If  this  creative  life,  that  gilds  to-morrow, 

Died  with  the  dying  frame. 
Before  the  bright  ideals  I  have  cherished, 

Seem  idler  than  the  dirge 
By  servile  mourners  chanted  round  the  perished, 

Wrapt  in  their  mocking  serge ; 


RENDER    US    HAPPIER.  I7I 

Ere  lips  may  learn,  in  pride  or  idle  scorning, 

To  sneer  at  human  needs, 
Thrilling  the  heart  as  God's  refreshing  morning 

Thrill  life  through  barren  creeds  — 
Before  I  know  that  stranger  eyes,  dilating 

With  purest  thought,  shall  close, 
When  weary,  sandalled  Truth,  in  patient  waiting, 

Thrills  with  her  deathless  woes; 

Ere  from  the  realm  of  nobler  thought  and  feeling, 

In  narrower  range  my  mind 
Shall  darken  to  a  glimm'ring  ray,  revealing 

The  freedom  cast  behind, 
I  would  go  hence  —  the  silent  graves  are  greener 

Than  human  souls  may  be, 
And  o'er  them  bends  yon  glorious  arch,  serener 

Than  blinded  glance  may  see  ! 

Oh,  mystic  Temple  !    where,  in  thrilling  vision, 

I  claim  all  grand  and  free, 
In  thought  or  outer  life  —  the  gifts  elysian 

Your  portals  hold  for  me. 
H,  spite  the  lovely  dreams  so  strangely  waiting 

Upon  my  human  need, 
In  future  years  a  dreary  prison  grating 

Shall  hide  what  now  I  read  ; 


\J2  "R/NG    IN    THE    CHRIST 


Ere  from  this  inner-life,  in  sceptic  blindness 

I  rend  the  glowing  veil 
God's  grace  hath  lent,  with  more  than  human  kindness, 

To  be  my  spirit's  mail, 
Let  me  depart !    lest  as  a  soul  despairing 

Of  loveliness  and  truth, 
I  walk  celestial  fields,  forever  wearing 

The  garb  of  loss  and  ruth  ! 


►S^feKM-*- 


"RlNG  IN  THE  CHRIST  THAT  IS  TO  BE" 


THAT  is  to  be,"  to  eyes  and  hearts  of  men, 
Made  clear  and  large,  to  take  His  glory  in  ; 
Whose  soul  in  Sonship  grew  and  blossomed,  when 
The  world  was  rocking,  hoar  with  craft  and  sin. 

"That  is  to  be,"  when  Prayer,  made  Life,  shall  run 
Between  glad  fruitage,  from  the  east  to  west, 

And  work  of   Heaven  in  work  of  Earth  begun, 
Shall  each  in  all  and  all  in  each  be  blest. 


THA  T   IS    TO    BE." 


173 


Creedless,  His  human  spirit  turned  to  God, 

And  found,  breathed,  lived   Him,  grandly  girt  about; 

The  holy  Power  enfolding  as  he  trod, 
The  evil  spirits  stood  afar,  without. 

Who  spoke,  in  deadened  ears,  divine  decree, 

That  he  who  serves  is  Heaven's  anointed  priest, 

Bearing  the  holy  wine  of  sympathy, 

Breaking  the  bread  enriching  more  than  feast? 

Whose  very  shadow  healed  the  sick  that  came, 

Who  blessed  the  children  of  God's  kingdom  sweet, 

Who  "Abba"  taught,  who,  in  wise,  tender   blame, 
Bent  low,  to  wash  blinded  disciples'  feet  ? 

Who  caught  the  beauty  hid  in  meadows  fair, 

Whose  heart  went  out  to  give  grim  sinners  grace, 

Who  lived  a  mighty,  heaven-touched  prophet  there, 
Whose  death  set  seal  on  Truth  for  all  the  race  ? 


The  Christ  that  shall  be,  when,  erect  and  free, 
We  stand,  as  once  our  Elder  Brother  stood, 

And  say:  "Father,  what  word  or  work  for  me! 
I  fear  not,  show  Thyself  my  Perfect  Good  !  " 
15* 


Human  Trust. 


EACH  wears  a  mask ;    so,  side  by  side, 
We  dimly  walk;    our  paths  are  wide 
And  yet  our  thoughts  we  cannot  hide. 

A  sceptic  from  the  world's  broad  field, 
His  words  were  kind,  the  tone  revealed 
A  wondering  scorn,  but  half-concealed. 

"  The  Poet  lives  a  life  apart, 
And   his  alone  the  subtile  art 
To  turn  to  Heaven  the  world's  loud  mart. 

"The  guilt  that  unabashed  stalks  out, 
The  specious  lie,  this  meanness,  doubt, 
Who,  who  can  trace  life's  riddle  out? 

"  Vain  toys  of   Chance    or  slaves  to  Fate, 
Straws  on  the  deep  men  float  or  wait, 
The  buoy  of  safety  always*  late. 

174 


//UMAX    TRUST.  I  75 

"  With  powers  so  cramped,  with  hands  close-tied, 
What  marvel,  grappling  side  by  side, 
Each  makes  himself  his  God,  his  guide  ! 

"  I   judge  alone  by  what  I  see; 

Self-interest  rules,  and  Truth  would  be 
Stern  umpire  betwixt  you  and  me  !  " 

"  I  said:    "I  too  Life's  burden  share, 
Its  secret  stings,  its  daily  snare  — 
My  heart  is  human,  all  are  there. 

"  I  dare  not  call  the  bitter  sweet ; 
All  sight  of  Pain  arrests  my  feet ; 
Crime  flaunts  along  the  crowded  street. 

"  And  yet,  God  made  this  Earth  I  hold  ; 
Beyond  its  silver,  all  its  gold, 
Despite  the  shames  your  tongue  has  told, 


Lives  something  which  the  heart  may  keep, 

Like  blessed  calm  to  fevered  sleep, 

Pure  lives  have  sowed ;   we  needs  must  reap 


"  They  sweeten  all ;    I  dare  not  throw 
The  stone  of  scorn,  its  reflex  blow 
Brings  deadlier  injury  than  we  know. 


I76  HUMAN    TRUST. 


"  Strong  links  of  trust  that  will  not  break, 
Am  I  less  true  that,  for  their  sake, 
A  kindlier  thought  of  all  I  take  ? 

"  Though  clouds  are  black,  beyond  is  blue, 
The  changeless  light  of  God  shines  through  ; 
Let  Truth  be  judge  between  us  two  !  " 

Spirit. 

We  give  of  our  best,  and  the  soul's  deep  cup, 
With  new  life  o'erflowing,  still  bubbles  up. 

CHANGELESS,  forever  the  Great  Law  shall  run 
Not  God  Himself  can  bid  the  mystery  cease ; 
Giving,  we  have  ;    beneath  the  Heavenly  Sun 

So,  and  so  only,  will  our  life  increase. 
The  good,  in  selfish  store,  we  fain  would  keep 

In  our  embrace  shall  turn  to  mould'ring  dust, 
Our  souls  be  wrapt  in  a  deep,  numbing  sleep, 

Our  treasure,  bright  to  view,  be  lost  in  rust. 
Ever  the  emptied  spirit  shall  return, 

By  law  we  rise,  the  Fount  of  Life  awaits; 
Joyous  and  free,  the  miracle  we  learn, 

Close  'neath  the  shadow  of   His  shining  gates  ! 


God  is  Love:' 


i 


N  solemn  voice,  with  steadfast  face, 
I  hear  the  childish  fable  told 
That  shuts  the  door  to  love  and  grace, 
And  chills  the  light  that  streamed  of  old. 

The  story  of  a  wrathful  King, 

Meek  ransom  at  His  own  high  throne, 

Round  which  enraptured  seraphs  sing 
The  praises  due  to  Him  alone. 

The  fiction,  blasphemous  and  cold, 
In  tender  Youth  is  fused  and  lost ; 

That  glory  shed  on  mounts  of  old 

Steals  clown  thro'  mists  and  blighting  frost. 

His  chosen  teachers  are  not  dead  — 
On  tablets  of   the  soul  they  trace 

The  living  law  the  nations  read, 
Ilium' ning  every  truth-touched  face. 

Still  on  the  countless  tribes  of  men 

God's  tender  gifts  and  mercies  fall  j 

To  each  awakened  ear  again 

Rings  clearer  His  inspiring  call. 

M  177 


By  the  Hudson. 


'T^HE  things  whereby  true  strength  is  born 
*-         We  do  not  choose ; 
Bearing  within  our  life  the  bitter  thorn 
Our  heart  would  fain  refuse. 

But  after — even  on  this  Earth, 

His  working  will  — 
Evolving,  through  our  tears,  a  deeper  worth, 

Dawns  on  us  clear  and  still. 

Oh,  Life  Divine,  that  sends  the  cheer 

Of  this  flecked  sky, 
And  soft  bird-song,  these  mountains  rising  clear, 

Rapture  to  ear  and  eye  ! 

Fold  me  in  the  Eternal  ways, 

In  Nature's  prayer  ! 
Through  trusting  gladness  will  I  send  true  praise. 

God  ruling  everywhere  ! 

Cornwall  on  the  Hudson,  June  17,  1876. 

178 


Passed  in  Beauty:' 


YrOUXG,  with  eves  so  calm  and  tender, 
In  new  dreams  you  felt  their  grace, 
Golden  gleams  of  woman's  splendor 

Touching  hair,  and  changing  face  ! 
Loving  eyes,  that  swept  as  sunshine 

Through  the  misty,  troubled  air, 
Still  closed,  and  shutting  light  from  mine, 

Still  is  she  sleeping  there? 
But  a  week  ago  her  footfall 

Dropp'd  light  music  on  the  stair  — 
But  a  week  ago  the  death-call 

Had  not  hushed  our  grateful  prayer. 
Round  her  window  climb  the  roses 

She  hath  looked  on  every  morn, 
Where  the  fairest  bunch  reposes, 

Be  her  maiden-chaplet  torn. 
She  is  dead  that  loved  these  flowers, 

Still  the  face  that  should  have  smiled  — 

179 


ISO  ''PASSED   in  beauty:' 

They  are  fragrant,  wet  with  showers, 

For  the  forehead  of   the  child  ! 
Sunshine  lifteth  up  the  shadow 

Creeping  round  the  curtain's  fold, 
With  a  smile  of  morn  and  meadow, 

Where  she  lieth  still  and  cold. 
Dead,  with  name  cut  truer,  deeper 

Than  cold  marble  ever  bore, 
On  warm  hearts,  oh,  peaceful  sleeper, 

Living  letters  evermore  ! 
Let  no  sound  of  passionate  crying 

Break  the  stillness  of  the  room, 
Heaven  hath  consecrate  to  dying, 

Loving  thoughts,  and  early  bloom. 
Bitter  thoughts,  that  hide  the  gladness 

Of  the  solemn  smile  she  wears, 
Melt  in  tears  of  holy  sadness, 

Pass  away  in  silent  prayers. 
At  the  doorway  Life  will  greet  us, 

Shrinking — we  shall  bear  its  touch  — 
Learn  to  smile  with  friends  who  greet  us, 

Taste  of  pleasure,  suffer  much  ; 
But  where  lost  and  rare  are  treasured, 

Veiled  from  stranger's  eye  and  ear, 
Solemn,  hung  with  thoughts  that  perished, 

Lit  with  tapers  bright  and  clear. 


Spirit  Work. 


STRANGE  weavers  all !    No  looms  of  Persia,  flinging 
Their  richest  textures  to  the  light  of  Day, 
May  match  the  glorious  things,  in  daily  bringing, 
Souls  fashion  out,  by  work  more  rare  than  they  ! 

In  human  hands  and  hearts  are  noiseless  plying 
The  unseen  threads  of  Life,  or  blackest  Death; 

The  garment  of  rejoicing  or  of  sighing 

Shaped  now,  for  Heaven  or  Hell,  with  daily  breath  ! 

We  choose,  and  so  are  chosen.     All  our  praying, 
But  ends  in  this  :    To  clasp  the  good  we  know, 

As  Jacob  turestled.     So  our  angel,  staying, 
Shall  mark  with  light  a  visible  heaven  below ! 
16  181 


Ideals. 


DEEP  thoughts  from  God  !  abide  to  light  my  way 
Brighter  than  moon  or  sun, 
Ye  rise  o'er  Life's  horizon  as  we  pray, 
O'er  landscape  else  so  dun. 


Gleams  from  the  Infinite,  to  our  clearer  will, 

Piercing  our  sordid  rest 
With  a  new  peace,  that  holds  us  brave  and  still, 

To  gaze  into  the  Best. 

Ye  are  so  real,  amid  phantasmal  things, 

Vampires  that  drain  our  life; 
Ye  are  so  grand,  your  very  shadow  flings 

A  rainbow  through  all  strife  ! 

No  church  of  man's  device  may  hem  ye  in  ; 

Above  all  churchly  sign 
Ye  blaze,  and  shrivelled  lies  the  secret  sin, 

Burnt  in  that  fire  divine. 

182 


UNA  NS  WE  RED.  1  8  3 


Ye  perfect  things,  that  live,  that  cannot  die, 
Most  glad,  most  strong,  most  free, 

In  everlasting  presence  make  reply; 
So  teach  me  how  to  be  / 


~&*>* 


Unanswered. 


THE  word  of  one  I  gladly  hail  a  friend, 
Came  questioning.     Shall  I  say 
What  scarce  is  answer,  only  deepest  end, 
Where  instinct  points  the  way? 

I  know  not ;  subtile  mystery  past  our  clasp, 
Or,  yielding,  true  and  strong, 

Just  so  much  substance,  when  I  curious  ask, 
As  makes  me  ponder  long. 

Why  some,  by  very  presence,  bar  my  speech, 
Drop  lead  on  heart  and  hand  ; 

How  others  lift  to  things  beyond  my  reach, 
Quick  flashing  where  they  stand  ; 


I  84  UNA  NS  WE  RED. 

Why  strange  distrust,  before  a  word  is  said, 

Will  bid  me  turn  away; 
How  instant  Faith  will  strike  slow  Prudence  dead, 

Or  boldly  bid  it  stay. 

These  thrill,  or,  sphinx-like,  set  me  curious,  dumb, 

Between  the  Day  and  Night ; 
From  neither  does  the  freighted  answer  come, 

I  wait  to  hear  aright. 

Yet  links  in  strange,  vibrating  chain  we  move, 

Beneath  the  Father's  will  ; 
Discords  that  jar,  all  sweeter  touch  to  soothe, 

His  warning  blessings  still. 

I  boldly  trust ;   He  sets  no  blunderers  blind, 

Our  hints,  our  guide  to  be ; 
God  fashions  best  to  live  among  our  kind, 

In  giving  Liberty  ! 


'All  ls  Vanity: 


I  LISTENED  while  he  spoke,  as,  one  by  one, 
The    things    most    holy,  God-appointed,  claimed   his 
speech ; 
My  heart  rose  up  in  earnest  protest  —  none 
Of  all  he  pictured  might  his  dull  heart  reach. 

For  through  the  human  rise  we  to  divine,  — 

By  Love  to  Love,  that  set  the  myriad  stars  aflame ; 

Through  daily  life  and  thought  His  light  must  shine, 
And  common  deeds  most  glorify  His  name ! 

Christ 


OH,  eyes,  so  restful,  that  the  devils  fled 
In  that  old  time,  search,  let  all  evil  flee 
Out  of  my  soul ;  above  all  quick  and  dead, 

I  hear  a  voice  immortal  calling  me. 
Oh,  hand,  so  quick  to  bless,  so  strong  to  aid, 
Clasp  mine  therein,  and  Love  shall  work  the  rest; 
16*  185' 


1 86  SLOWLY. 


The  Father  sent,  I  cannot  be  afraid  ; 

Life  of  the  world,  who  stood  its  crucial  test ! 
Oh,  soul,  divinely  human,  bravely  sweet, 

Whose  deep  reality  transcends  all  sign, 
Breathe  through  my  life,  so  wavering,  incomplete, 

Constraining  all  my  thoughts  to  blend  with  thine  ! 


Slowly. 


WE  marvel  dimly  that  the  tide  of  Life 
Should  still  so  slowly  climb 
O'er  bare  and  jagged  rocks,  worn  deep  with  strife, 
Impatient  of  God's  time. 

Yet,  waiting,  all  along  gray  centuries  past, 

The  coming  morning  breaks; 
Under  His  brooding  Spirit,  true  and  vast, 

The  sleeping  Life  awakes. 

Slow  comes  the  faith  that  things  of  God  must  grow, 

From  unseen,  gradual  roots ; 
Leaf,  bud,  and  blossom  into  fulness  blow, 

And  last  His  glorious  fruits  ! 


Spheres. 

By  the  grace  of  God  comes  power  of  choice, 
That  shall  make  the  Earth  in  our  lives  rejoice. 

OUR   souls    are    not    our    own ;    whether  'mid    baleful 
weeds, 
Standing  heart-high,  we  miss  the  wholesome  day  — 
Whether,  herein,  are  sown  the  wafted  seeds 
Of  Truth  divine,  to  fructify  our  clay  ! 

Forever,  mystic  forces  that  we  cannot  see 
Are  pulsing  strong  across,  within,  without ; 

Forever  what  we  are,  and  what  shall  be, 
In  links  most  wondrous,  compass  us  about. 

O'er  all  is  traced  one  clear,  bright,  Changeless  Law ; 

We  give  of  Life  or  Death  to  whom  we  meet ! 
Out  of   each  spirit  will  the  day's  work  draw 

The  hidden  devil  or  the  angel  sweet. 

Give,  give  we  must ;  with  joy,  out  of  our  garnered  best, 
For  help  and  healing,  or,  with  stunted  will, 

Giving  our  darkness,  where  were  light  and  rest, 
Under  the  swerveless  Law  that  binds  us  still ! 

187 


1 88  IMMORTALITY. 


Each  soul  must  share  the   Law  ;    alike   from  quick  and 
dead 

We  catch  a  glowing  strength  or  blighting  taint ; 
Alike  we  hunger  and  alike  are  fed; 

God's  world  the  same  for  sinner  and  for  saint. 


Immortality. 


NOT  gathered  out  of  books,  in  sudden  rushes, 
This  thought  of  light ; 
Transmitted  clearly,  like  the  sunset  flushes, 
It  fills  my  sight. 


How,  when,  or  why  it  came?     Go  ask  the  flowers 

Whence  comes  the  dew 
'Neath  which  they  thrive  unconscious,  all  their  powers 

Touched  through  and  through. 

It  came,  it  lingers,  a  rich  wordless  story 

To  heart  and  brain, 
And  all  within  me  claims  an  added  glory 

In  glad  refrain  ! 


'Lamp  of  the  Sanctuary:' 


FLAME  all  unguessed,  and  by  good  angels  tended, 
Whereby  I  see  what  God  would  have  me  do, 
Whose  love  hath  lit,  whose  daily  care  befriended  — 

Shine  in  me,  clear  and  true  ! 
Just  of  His  lending;    so  I  need  no  treasure, 

Golden  and  gemmed,  swung  o'er  an  outward  shrine : 
The  Father,  of  His  own  unfailing  measure, 
Will  give  me  light  divine  ! 

Stars. 

His  fiat  comes,  and  all  the  Stars  obey ; 
Unveil  thy  light,  and  be  as  fair  as  they  ! 

AS  true  stars  shine  out  in  God's  firmament, 
So,  fraught  with  His  life,  are  our  spirits  meant 
To  illumine  the  darkness,  whereto  He  sent. 

Sad,  waiting  eyes  from  the  valley  turn, 
Lone  hearts  on  the  icy  mountain  burn  ; 
At  these  midnight  lamps  of   Heaven  they  learn 

189 


I9O  LIGHT   A  II HAD. 


Over  Earth's  shadows  must  clearly  shine, 

Golden  and  silver,  the  rays  divine, 

From  the  heart  of  the  Father,  to  yours  and  mine. 

From  the  heart  of  the  Infinite  —  more  than  sun 
Into  ours  !     The  life  of  The  Spirit  begun, 
So  reaches  His  creatures,  one  by  one. 


Light  Ahead. 


ON  the  borders  of  Dreamland,  I  knew  not  whence, 
A  Thought  stood  luminous,  lovely,  true; 
Like  a  sudden  gift,  not  departing  thence, 
Till  my  soul  dropped  into  its  sleep  anew. 

With  the  morning  sunlight  I  waked,  and  tried 
To  recall  the  glory  that  touched  my  sight, 

And  that  sense  of  power,  dilating,  wide; 

In  vain,  for  the  glory  had  passed  with  Night  ! 

I  marvel  if  who-so  or  what-so  lent 

That  thrilling  thought,  a  brief*  space  to  me, 

Will  shed  it  once  more,  past  the  strange  veil  rent, 
From  time  to  time  through  our  sympathy. 


Hereafter. 


I'VE  wondered   sometimes,  if,   behind  our  best 
Of  outward  work  and  underneath  its  crust, 
Unguessed,  unknown,  in  God's  alembic,  Rest, 
Stirs  not  the  finer  life  to  thrill  our  dust  ! 

So  wondering,  with  the  River  coursing  fair, 

With  sun-flecked  mountains  bound,  on  grassy  seat 

Fresh  from  God's  hand,  this  draught  of  beauty  rare 
I  quaff  with   joy,  unreasoning,  most  complete ! 

And,  drinking  so,  my  wonder  lies  deep-drowned 
Under  a  flood  of  certainty,  that  still, 

Deep  in  our  souls,  in  space,  in  under-ground, 
In  unguessed  place,  the  Infinite  works  His  will. 

And,  working,  sheds  a  tender  pity  down 
On  all  our  noisy  ways  and  busy  care, 

Keeping  His  silent  work  —  our  unguessed  crown  — 
A  sweet  surprise,  to  meet  and  claim  us  there  ! 

Cornwall  on  the  Hudson,  August,  1877. 

191 


God  the  Uncreated. 


IN  thy  crude  dream,  immortal,  dost  thou  look  to  see 
A  visible,  luminous  form,  in  human  mould, 
Who  from   a  judgment-throne  will   stretch  His  hand  to 
thee, 
In  welcome  sweet,  or  with  an  accent  cold, 
Perchance  speak  words  of  doom,  to  blight  thee  as  they 
fall, 
A  heaven  or  hell  within  His  cadence  deep? 
So,  halting,  runs  thy  vision  of   the  God  of  all, 
So  do  we  picture,  babbling  in  our  sleep. 

Not  distant  planets,  nor  the  widest  range  of  space, 

To  mortal  or  angelic  eyes  reveal 
The  Uncreated,  whose  great,  silent,  true  embrace 

Enwraps  all  change,  enfolds  each  power  we  feel 
On  Earth,  in  future  realms,  our  hearts  send  earnest  call ; 

Straightway  the  Infinite  enters,  lo  !  we  find 
Through  the  soul's  vision  only  Truth,  Love,  Beauty,  all 

That  centre  in,  that  are,  the  Infinite  Mind. 

192 


LOVE    EVERMORE.  I93 

No  judgment  day  for  saint  or  sinner,  then,  you  cry? 

When  every  sunrise  makes  fresh  judgment  day  ! 
Wherein  through  all  new-growing  life,  we  make  reply 

To  the  Great  Nearness,  circling  'round  our  way. 
Or,  weakly  grovelling,  turn,  with  fleshly  eyes  bent  down, 

To  learn  black  judgment  in  most  bitter  loss  ; 
As  here,  so  there,  to  win  or  lose  our  waiting  crown, 

To  know  the  Highest,  or  to  choose  the  dross  J 


Love  Evermore. 

I  hear  the  sweet,  new  song 
That  cheers  the  Weak,  that  makes  the  Brave  more  strong. 

FOREVERMORE  God's  Best  will  live, 
In  Sacred  Book,  through  centuries  gray, 
In  Living  Thought.     He  still  must  give, 
Past  timorous  hearts,  that  murmur  "Nay!" 

Oh,  superstitious  Night  of  dread, 

That  veiled  the  healthful  light  of  stars, 

Our  world  that,  dungeoned,  watched  its  dead, 
Sees  the  new  morning  through  its  bars ! 
17  N 


94  THE    GRAND,  ETERNAL    NOW. 

Glad  souls  rise  up  to  meet  His  Law  ; 

"Love"  sounds  across  the  slumbering  sea, 
As  from  God's  mountains,  and  shall  draw 

All  earnest  men  with  vision  free  ! 


The  Grand,  Eternal  Now. 


HOW  shall  the  Day  of   Faith  flood  all  the  world, 
Cold  ears  be  reached,  blind  eyes  be  led  to  see. 
And  deep-set  evils  from  their  place  be  hurled? 
God's  way  —  through  you  and  me! 

Not  so  ?     Then,  Coward-Hearts,  your  day  is  done, 
And  braver  come  to  fill  the  waiting  breach  ; 

In  morning's  blaze  to  cower  and  feel  no  sun, 
Sure  doom  your  life  must  reach. 

Only  who  wakes  to  claim  the  mystic  Now, 

First  step  in  the  New  Kingdom,  knows  the  best; 

Only  a  more  than  crown  upon  his  brow, 
Who  trusts  to  God  the  rest. 


The  Real  Presence!' 


NOT  to  the  costly  closet  of  cathedral  nave, 
With  curtain  veiling  from  God's  common  air, 
I  go  to  meet  the  Christ,  my  soul  to  save, — 
I  do  not  find  Him  there. 

Not  when    the    throng   bows  down   before   the   Uplifted 
Host, 

Jesus  of   Nazareth  comes  near  to  me, 
With  passing  shadow  of  the  Holy  Ghost, — 

My  soul  stands  clear  and  free. 

Where,  suddenly,  unsought,  upon  glad  vision  gleams 
His  freighted  life,  outweighing  word  He  spake, 

And  on  the  dusty  highway  radiance  streams. 
I  stand,  with  Him,  awake. 

Where,  silently,  go  heavenward,  souls  intoning  sweet, 
Or,  in  green  field,  fresh  as  His  feet  once  pressed, 

In  deed  of  good,  upon  the  crowded  street, 
I  feel  His  presence  best. 

i95 


Revelation. 


N' 


OT  only  on  the  mouldering  page 
Of  a  long  silent,  distant  age, 
The  Great  Invisible  hath  writ  His  story  ; 
Deeper  and  richer,  clearer  far 
Than  all  the  radiant  saintships  are, 
Shines  out  his  present  glory ! 

No  more  alone  to  seer  and  priest 
The  Mount  of  Vision,  God's  own  feast ; 
On  whom  so  wills,  Heaven's  grace  divine,  descending 
In  silent  ways,  in  unguessed  haunts, 
Shall  nerve  true  hearts  to  reach  wo  rid- wants, 
Fine  thought  and  action  blending. 

Fades  slowly  out  the  flaming  hell 
Disease  and  sin  were  wont  to  tell ! 
On  the  world's  life,  through  its  perversions  dropping, 
The  richer  tone,  the  fairer  day, 
Are  gently  given  —  as  God  alway 
Gives — without  break  or  stopping. 

196 


1X1- L  UX.  I97 


Oh  present,  glowing,  better  page 
Of  this  live,  surging,  blessed  age, 
Deep  gift  of  God,  to  all  who  use  it  duly ;  - — 
With  vision  simple,  wisely  clear, 
I  would  approach  your  mysteries  near, 
God  helping  to  read  truly  ! 


Influx. 

JUST  this  silent  thought  of  grace : 
"Earth  I  hold  a  sacred  place, 
Linked  to  heaven  by  glimmering  ways, 
Lower  hall  to  seraph's  praise ; 
Arched  by  good  I  may  not  see, 
Dropping  gifts  of  Truth  to  me." 

Just  this  thought  !     Behind  it  press 
Boundless  forces, —  Tenderness, 
Growth,  Speech,  Guidance,  Power  of  Wi' 
Fervid  Action,  Silence  still ; 
Hand  and  Heart  in  live  accord 
With  the  message  of  the  Lord. 
17* 


Paogxess. 


THROUGH  sorrow  past  I  see  a  guiding  ran  ; 
In  present  rest  I  know 
A  gladness  wrought  through  th'   Eternal  plan, 
Away  from  long  ago. 

The  bells  of  change  forever  ring  and  ring, 

Grim  idols  drop  to  dust ; 
A  finer  worship  to  the  front  we  bring, 

Because  our  spirits  must. 

Only  an  open  heart,  to  know  the  Christ, 

And  breathe  celestial  air; 
Not  all  the  weary  centuries  have  sufficed 

To  hide  His  life  most  rare ! 

The  decades  slowly  bear  us  nearer  Heaven ; 

Would  we  had  eyes  to  see 
How  life,  and  growth,  and  all  good  things  are  given, 

From  Unseen  Hands,  most  free  ! 

198 


OUR    SOULS.  I99 


Oh,  Soul  of  mine,  thy  gateway  open  stands, 

Straight  to  the  Father's  door  ; 
Why  travel  o'er  the  wrecks  of  olden  lands, 

To  find  His  Face  once  more? 

No  fretted  walls,  nor  book,  nor  laden  shrine, 

Between  thy  God  and  thee ; 
Here,  here,  alone,  I  meet  the  light  divine, 

Or  nowhere  else,  for  me  ! 


Our  Souls. 

"  Oh,  God  !    I  can  trust  for  the  human  soul !  " 

G.  G.  A. 

YES,  the  Human  Soul  !     He  is  not  afar 
Who  whirls  the  grand  stars  in  their  ceaseless  way ; 
Love  alone  He  sends,  past  all  stain  or  scar, 

That  hides  His  last  marvel,  in  house  of  clay. 
Cant  phrase,  narrow  groove,  like  the  baby's  game, 

Dropp'd  out  of   its  life,  for  the  higher  things 
That  noiselessly,  with  a  new  fulness,  came 

Once  to  Jordan's  Christ,  as  on  dove-like  wings. 


2CO  THE    HIDDEN    TRUTH. 

For  the  soul,  that  is  germ  of  the  best  we  know, 

Shedding  subtler  life  than  the  scent  of  flowers  ; 
For  the  soul  that  glimmers,  is  pinched  and  low, 

He  silently  reaches,  in  ways  not  ours. 
For  each  was  meant  to  a  height  divine, 

Through  sorrows  that  deepen,  through  sunshine  sweet, 
Still  to  mount  the  Ladder  of  Being  —  line 

There  is  none — till  it  rests  at  the  Father's  feet. 


The  Hidden  Truth. 

The  soul's  deep  proofs  exceed  our  spoken  sense, 
For  logic  giving  Life,  for  reasonings,  recompense. 

THE  sweetest,  deepest,  best, 
Are  still  the  things  we  cannot  prove ; 
Though  Logic  wait  our  need  for  all  the  rest, 

Yet  these  within  their  higher  orbit  move, 
Beyond  our  speech  confessed  ! 

The  beauty  of  the  Rose 

Love,  and  Love  only,  apprehends ; 
Dull  eyes  may  stare,  while  petals  fine  unclose, 

Or  watch  yon  Cloud-land,  whence  the  glory  sends 
No  vision,  as  it  flows. 


AT   SUNSE  T.  201 


The  hidden  truth  must  stir, 

From  inner  deeps  no  plummets  sound,       * 
Before  the  Life  Beyond,  past  this  life's  whirr, 

Floods  all  the  Border-land  with  joy  profound. 
The  wings  within  must  stir, 

In  silent  token  clear, 

That,  strangely  girt  about  we  stand, 
From  outer  sense  remote,  while  Heaven  gro\tfs  near; 

As  noiseless  drops  our  anchor  on  new  strand, 
New  songs  of  Life  we  hear  ! 


At  Sunset. 


MID  Sunset  glories,  when  you  gaze, 
Think  that  you  stand  with  me, 
That  I,  too,  breathe  in  clearer  ways, 
From  "bricks  and  mortar"   free. 
So  will  your  rich-piled  clouds  inspire 

Of  Beauty  double  sense, 
This  earth  glow  in  celestial  fire, 
Your  life  grow  more  intense. 


202  TO    LIT  A. 


United,  sympathy  flows  wide, 

To  reach  from  earth  to  sky; 
And  back  from  Heaven's  all  radiant  tide 

Earth's  glory  you  descry. 
Four  eyes  and  vision  one,  make  one; 

A  truth  past  numbers  clear. 
Friend,  think  of  me  at  set  of  sun, 

In  spirit  know  me  near ! 


TO   LlTA. 


WITH  Baby-feet,  that  fail  in  rash  endeavor, 
God  guide  your  after  way  ! 
With  Baby-hands,  that  clasp  at  trifles  ever, 

Through  all  your  later  day 
Be  His  the  touch  to  send  all  life-thoughts  flowing, 

From  soul  to  finger-tips; 
His  presence  felt,  to  keep  heart-music  going, 

Still  from  your  merry  lips. 
Oh,  Baby-eyes,  that  gleam  with  saucy  laughter, 

Grow  strong  and  bright  to  see 
All  purity  within  the  near  Hereafter, 

All  things  that  make  most  free ! 


The  Unseen  World. 


NO  world  apart,  in  which  we  may  not  walk, 
Till  the  Great  Mystery  sets  the  spirit  free  ; 
A  shining  bridge  brings  ''angels  down  our  talk;" 
The  soul  looks  forth,  Heaven  answers  to  its  plea. 

Strong,  strong  the  links,  beyond  all  sceptics'  touch, 
From  heart  to  heart,  of  those  who  went  before ; 

Weak,  weak  the  barriers,  parted,  loving  much, 
Who  wait  to  greet,  on  that  invisible  shore  ! 

Across  our  day  that  fairer  daylight  shines ; 

Into  ourselves  that  have  no  part  with  clay 
Come  intuitions,  whence  the  soul  divines 

A  restful  splendor,  past  all  twilight  gray. 

The  halo  falls  upon  the  lowliest  spot, 

Ever  the  Unseen  makes  this  Earth  more  sweet ; 

The  garden  only  fades  where  God  is  not ; 
His  paths  to  finer  life  lie  broad,  complete ! 


Divine  Uses. 


WE  serve  deep  use  of  His,  in  blessed  choosing, 
Or,  blindly  answering  No,  are  made  of  use; 
Chasms  of  darkness  which,  the  world  refusing, 
Turns  from,  unheeding  all  our  faint  excuse. 

We  serve,  to  reign  as  kings,  on  heights  eternal, 
Where  trees  rise  grand,  and  all  the  air  is  sweet ; 

We  serve ;  lo,  our  own  hearts  grow  bowers  most  vernal, 
And  God's  own  light  will  make  our  joy  complete. 

Aeter  Rain. 


THE  shorn,  crisp  grass  is  fragrant  'neath  my  feet, 
With  crystals  hung,  the  air  atune 
With  tender  song,  as  'neath  His  presence  sweet, 
I  stand  with  this  bright  hour,  in  perfect  June ! 
Slow  waver  mists  above  the  outlined  hills, 

Like  mute,  white  blessings  on  the  air; 
A  rainbow-light  its  hint  of  God  fulfils, 
In  slanting  grace,  athwart  yon  River  rare. 

204 


JESUS.  205 

Finer  than  forms,  beyond  the  stifling  creeds, 

This  beauty  man  can  never  make ; 
Deep  the  Communion-cup  to  inmost  needs, 

With  reverent  joy,  my  reaching  soul  would  take. 
His  radiance,  His,  who,  starring  Infinite  Space, 

Comes,  Love  and  Light  and  Peace  to  me ; 
Just  this  thin  veil  of  Nature  'twixt  God's  face, 

And  my  near  gaze  towards  Him  I  cannot  see! 
Cornwall  on  the  Hudson,  Sunday,  June  17,  1877. 


•  j^^-jfc.* 


Jesus. 


PAST  the  legends  strange  and  dim, 
Past  all  mists  that  vaguely  swim, 
I  would  wander  back  to  Him. 

Bridging  o'er  the  chasm  wrought 
By  distorted,  childish  thought  — 
Nearer  unto  Nature  brought, 

I  would  read  each  wondrous  sign, 
Feel  such  human  love,  divine  — 
Make  God's  choicest  treasure  mine. 
18 


206  JESUS. 


Past  the  centuries  cold  and  gray, 
Groping  towards  the  clearer  day, 
I  would  follow  while  I  may ; 

Stand  beside  that  ancient  shore, 
Whence  the  peace  His  spirit  wore, 
Blest  the  world  forevermore ; 

Lingering  where,  in  desert  gray, 
Pausing  on  His  upward  way, 
Wrestling 'neath  the  tempter's  sway: 

Life  and  power  were  born  anew, 
And  with  wrapt,  diviner  view, 
Angels'  messages  He  knew. 

I  would  read  the  Father's  will, 
Sounding  to  the  nations  still  — 
Feel  the  Son  that  law  fulfil ; 

And  with  reverence,  free  from  fear, 

Gazing  with  a  vision  clear, 

Know  Christ's  spirit,  now  and  here  ! 


True  Thought  and  Deed. 


POOR  waverer !    whom  some  jarring  creed 
Has  driven  to  doubt  or  silence  cold, 
Turn  thy  heart's  deepest  page,  and  read 
The  truth  that  shines  and  ne'er  grows  old. 

In  the  Soul's  silent  temple,  meet 

For  harmonies  of  peace  divine, 
Th'  invisible  and  safe  retreat  — 

Claim  Heaven's  Best  Gift,  and  prove  it  thine. 

Oh,  yield  unto  the  God  of  All 

The  homage  of  true  thought  and  deed, 

Nor  desecrate  the  living  call 

Christ  uttered  thro'  His  power  and  need. 

Oh,  deep,  impassioned,  yearning  heart, 
Whose  echoes  answered  Nature  free, 

You  listen,  and  the  mists  depart, 

Your  eyes  are  touched  —  thank  God  you  see. 

207 


Spiritual  Life. 


TO  know  this  wond'rous  world,  despite  its  pain, 
With  every  glowing  landscape,  still  is  ours; 
To  feel  existence  grow  a  deep'ning  gain, 
To  every  sense,  to  all  unfolding  powers. 

To  trust  all  Life  rounds  slowly  to  its  best, 

E'en  while  we  dimly  grope  for  means  and  ends, 

To  have  inspiring  vision,  gladness,  rest, 

In  the  soul's  aisles,  where  the  Great  Life  descends; 

To  know  the  mystic  key,  for  ages  sought, 

By  teachers  hid,  a  sacred,  daily  sign, 
But  opens  inward  to  the  Holy  Court, 

This  human,  beating  heart  of  yours  and  mine. 

This  is  to  claim  lost  birthright,  large  and  free, 
Turning  cathedral  windows  to  the  sun, 

To  let  the  gleam  of  Immortality 

Illume  for  presence  of  th'  Invisible  one  ! 

208 


Be  Strong,  O  Soul 


TURN  back,  O  Soul,  and  in  some  fond  Ideal, 
That  shimmers  to  and  fro, 
Find  joy,  or  wrestling  with  the  grander  Real, 
This  strange  unrest  forego. 

It  bideth  not,  the  guest  so  strange  and  lonely, 

Apart  from  board  or  speech ; 
Tempted  it  turns  in  wond'ring  sorrow  only, 

God's  presence  within  reach. 

From  the  deep  palace,  where,  in  storied  splendor, 

Bright  shadows  seem  to  fall, 
From  warmer  light  around  the  household  tender, 

One  spirit  binding  all  — 


Why  soar  when  the  warm  tide  of  life  flows  deepest  ? 

Thy  pris'ning  walls  are  fair  — 
Why  seek  those  misty  heights  that  rise  the  steepest, 

Lost  in  the  upper  air? 

18  *  O  209 


2IO  BE    STRONG,   O    SOUL! 

Content  thee  with  all  beautiful  and  tender, 

The  shore,  the  changing  sea  — 
This  baffled  search  of  unseen  good  surrender, 

And  Earth  shall  answer  thee  ! 

It  may  not  be  !   in  many  a  strange  reminder 

This  truth  is  inward  born, 
The  spirit  seeks  a  living  home,  and  kinder, 

Beyond  the  gates  of  Morn. 

Beyond  this  Earth,   inlaid  with  warm  affection 

And  joy  that  beggars  speech, 
Enriched  with  deep'ning  thoughts  of   His  election, 

Prophets  divine  to  each ; 

Dimly  prefigured  in  the  sudden  glory, 

Some  sacred  moment  knows  — 
Uprising  from  the  depths  of  thrilling  story, 

The  immortal  secret  flows. 

Be  strong,  O  Soul  !  in  hope  and  nobler  dreaming 

These  earthly  toys  must  fall, 
The  truer  light  of  God  forever  streaming, 

Renewing  life  for  all ! 


My  Faith. 


F?OR  faith  I  ask  in  latent  good, 

A      Slow-working  through  these  centuries  dim, 

For  light  on  all  misunderstood, 

For  Hope  to   join  th'   immortals'   hymn ; 

Faith  in  this  deep,  mysterious  life, 

Through  which  the  wise  and  saintly  wrought  - 
Faith  in  that  peace,  subduing  strife, 

Some  earnest  souls  from  Heaven  have  caught. 

Such  faith  —  no  other  would  I  claim, 

Though  hundreds  pressed  a  lauded  creed  — 

Across  my  brow  no  flush  of  shame 
Should  ever  rise  to  veil  the  deed  ! 

The  Present's  surging  tide  is  strong  — 
Why  from  the  Future,  sounding  near, 

Turn  to  dead  branches  swept  along, 
And  lost  beneath  the  waters  clear? 


212  MY  FAITH. 


Why  linger  o'er  the  sleeping  dust 
Of  burning  deeds  in  days  of  old, 

When  tender  shoots  of  living  trust 

Now  strive  to  pierce  the  darkening  mould? 

Why  close  the  living  page  illumed 

By  God  and  Nature  —  writ  with  prayer 

Unceasing  —  for  the  books  entombed 
With  hermit  bones  in  sunless  air? 

Why  bind  the  soaring  spirit  fast 

With  relics  of  a  gloomy  code, 
While  flowers,  in  Heaven's  profusion  cast, 

Neglected,  fade  upon  the  road? 

Dim  idols,  whence  revealing  Time 
Hath  rent  the  shreds  ye  vainly  hold, 

Fall  at  the  slowly-rising  chime, 

Unwaked  through  shrouded  vales  of  old  ! 

If,  o'er  an  unknown,  marvellous  shore, 
From  radiant  heights  deep  sunrise  broke, 

Wouldst  mourn  the  light  which  paled  before 
This  radiance,  free  from  Night's  gray  smoke? 


MY  FAITH.  213 


Why  from  this  pulsing  life  turn  back 
To  wonders  of  the  buried  Past, 

When  overhead  the  same  deep  track 
Of   Heaven  is  flaming,  high  and  vast? 

What  deeper  miracles  to  thrill 
Than  those  a  single  life  unfolds, 

When  some  grand  soul,  aspiring  still, 
Looks  down  upon  the  form  it  moulds  ! 

O'er  treasures  in  the  cave  unsought, 
Why  heap  the  mould  of  other  years, 

While  solid  pillars,  deep  enwrought, 
Wait  till  the  master-hand  appears? 

The  formal  grasp  of  Custom  thrills 
No  inspiration  through  the  soul ; 

This  silent  temple  never  fills 

With  music  from  a  viewless  goal. 

Still  in  a  circle's  wearying  round, 

Of  ancient  forms  whose  warmth  is  fled. 

Why  chant  with  living  lips  this  sound  — 
A  ceaseless  ritual  of  the  dead  ! 


214  MY  1'AITH. 


While  Youth  and  Joy,  with  glowing  thought, 
Flit  through  the  Present's  sunlit  trees — 

Why  turn  from  all  in  beauty  wrought, 
Ignoring  flower,  and  rock,  and  breeze? 

Still  guarding  with  such  painful  care, 
The  story  traced  by  patient  hands  — 

If  one  true  life  is  written  there, 
Immutable,  God-writ,  it  stands. 

Through  strange  discordancies,  that  ring 
To  drown  th'  Evangel  of  the  Past, 

The  Truth  which  prescient  spirits  sing 
Shall  claim  this  wand'ring  world  at  last ! 

Still  all  unseen  the  Spirit  writes, 

For  fusing  ages  yet  unborn, 
And  o'er  the  distant,  waiting  heights, 

Steals  the  first  flush  of  rising  Morn  ! 


To  God  the  Father. 


WEAK  children,  blest  beneath  the  touch 
That  thrilled  in  centuries  past, 
And  yearning  to  resemble  such, 
Father  !    we  come  at  last. 

Casting  away  as  tangled  weeds 

The  vanities  of  sense, 
We  fain  would  rise  to  higher  needs, 

A  purer  recompense. 

Thou  knowest  all  —  lips  dare  not  say 

The  truth  hath  made  us  free, 
With  clearer  thoughts  we  only  pray 

In  deep'ning  trust  to  Thee. 

The  crumbling  temple  made  with  hands 

To  loving  eyes  is  dear  — 
Within  these  walls  the  soul  expands 

And  casteth  out  all  fear. 

215 


2l6  TO    GOD     THE    FATHER. 

But,  grant  us  in  the  noisy  mart 
To  breathe  a  voiceless  prayer  — 

In  daily  tasks,  in  thought  apart, 
To  know  Thou,  God,  art  there  ! 

These  wondrous  powers  for  endless  good. 

To  us  unworthy  given, 
No  longer  Thy  dear  grace  withstood, 

We  consecrate  to  Heaven ! 

That  quenchless  light,  a  Human   Heart 

Transfigured  to  divine, 
This  one  most  precious  gift  apart, 

Hath  made  us  wholly  Thine. 

Immortals,  called,  thro'  joy  and  pain, 
To  follow  where  He  trod  — 

Rewarded  in  the  spirit's  gain, 
We  would  pass  on,  O  God  ! 

We  ask  Thy  peace  may  rest  on  all 

Beneath  our  common  sun, 
And  if  strange  shadows  darkly  fall, 

Still  pray  —  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 


Hymn  of  the  Children. 


LOVINGLY,  lovingly,  unto  Thy  praise, 
We  in  our  childhood  glad  voices  would  raise; 
Now,  while  our  hearts  are  unfettered  and  free, 
Give  them  the  light  ever  shining  from  Thee ; 

Then  evil  no  longer  will  shadow  the  sky; 
Shine  through  our  darkness,  O  Father,  on  high. 
Children,  Thy  children,  we  never  can  fear, 
Wherever  we  wander  Thy  presence  is  near. 

Lovingly,  lovingly,  turn  we  to  Thee, 

Giver  of  all  the  rich  beauty  we  see ; 

Never  may  thoughts  of  Thy  bounty  grow  cold  — 

Make  us  all  one  in  Thy  heavenly  fold ; 

Guard  us  by  day,  and  at  night,  when  we  rest, 
Send  us  bright  dreams  of  the   true  and  the  best. 
Children,  Thy  children,  we  never  can  fear, 
Wherever  we  wander  Thy  presence  is  near. 

19  2I7 


Hymn. 


WHAT  can  we  give,  O  God  !  —  our  way- 
Made  beautiful  with  gifts  of  Thine  — 
What  shall  we  bring,  for  every  day 
Thy  love  pours  out  its  gifts  divine  ! 

Thou  givest  all  —  our  life,  our  friends, 
These  days  of  joy,  our  nights  of  rest  — 

And  wide  that  tender  love  extends, 
To  draw  us  towards  the  true  and  best. 

We  look  into  the  deep  blue  sky  — 
We  see  the  stars,  we  see  not  Thee  — 

But  in  our  souls  we  feel  Thee  nigh, 
And  grateful  children  we  would  be. 

Ourselves  we  give,  our  early  youth, 

Our  hopes,  our  joys,  our  every  thought, 

Help  us,  O  God  !    in  deed  and  truth 
To  live  the  life  that  Jesus  taught. 

Make  us,  indeed,  Thy  children  dear, 
Then  every  daily  path  will  shine  — 

Our  hearts  are  weak,  but  draw  Thou  near 
And  fill  us  with  a  strength  divine. 

218 


Friends  Left  Behind. 


NOT  they  who  stand  on  the  receding  shore, 
With  tender  eyes,  that  hold  us  'mid  the  throng, 
And  stirring  lips;  our  voyage  evermore 

Is  blest  in  thought  of  such  —  for  Love  makes  strong. 

But,  in  my  thoughts  are,  whom  in  daily  place 
We  gently  meet,  with  whom  we  talk  and  smile, 

Claiming  an  answering  look  upon  our  face, 
And  distance  holds  apart  the  live-long  while. 

Giving  warm  words  to  whom,  in  deadly  strait, 
Our  soul  would  never  turn  for  answering  care ; 

Reaching  above,  beyond  their  hearts,  that  late 
Beat  the  same  measure  on  th'  encircling  air. 

From  whose  dim  eyes  we  veil  our  deepest,  best, 
A  thought  God-given,  some  vision  new  and  free, 

Reading  their  troubled  glance,  startled  unrest, 
Brought  face  to  face,  with  some  great  verity. 

219 


220  LIFE    INVISIBLE. 

Away,  though  side  by  side,  the  spirit  turns, 
To  climb  in  faith  a  sudden  mountain  height, 

Gleaming  beyond  this  plain  the  eye  discerns, 
In  glory  deeper  than  the  noon  or  night. 

Spirits  above  us  greet  us,  from  their  day, 

With  thought  inspiring,  deeds  of  Hope  and  cheer ; 

We  bend  towards  those  below  —  so  far  away  — 
Whose  feet  stand  fast,  whose  spirit  cannot  hear  ! 

—*>^^?^*  .«— 

Life  Invisibie. 


BY  forces  noiseless,  in  God's  silence  clear, 
Our  souls  are  strangely  moved  to  grow; 
The  things  we  see,  the  jangled  tones  we  hear, 

But  broken  lights,  that  seem  of  long-ago. 
Dropp'd  in  our  souls,  the  deepest  still  lies  hid, 

Or  comes,  with  faltering  speech,  to  open  day ; 
His  leaven  ceaseless  works,  whereto  'tis  bid; 

He  sends  diviner  flame  to  kindle  clay. 
On,  on,  best  thought  of  mine,  with  healthful  beat, 

Still  on,  all  living  hearts,  that  dare  not  rust ; 
On,  thou  dear  God,  who  makes  our  work  complete, 

On  in  thy  life,  its  larger  growth  and  trust  ! 


To  a  Spirit. 


'T^HOU  whom  my  lips  have  kissed  in  quiet  dreaming. 
■*■         So  far,  yet  ever  near, 
With  Morning's  flush,  and  thro'  the  Starlight  gleaming, 

Thy  music-voice  I  hear  ! 
No  troubled  look  of  earthly  mother's  wearing, 

Flits  o'er  thy  angel  face, 
No  lines,  deep  marked  in  passionate  despairing, 

Impair  its  changeless  grace. 

Evil  shrinks  back  whene'er  thy  radiant  shadow 

Falls  strange  and  silently, 
As  sun-touched  mountain  lights  the  dusky  meadow, 

Thy  presence  bends  o'er  me  ! 
Ah,  simple  faith,  in  saddened  glance  beholden, 

Where  passion  blinded  will, 
Ah,  tender  eyes  calm,  clear  as  sunlight  golden, 

Ye  shine  upon  me  still. 

19*  221 


222  TO   A    SPIRIT. 

And  music,  never  waked  on  earth,  is  sighing 

Thro'  mystic  aisles  of   thought, 
A  music  floating  from  the  realms  undying, 

By  angel-voices  wrought. 
Oh  !   wondrous  spell,  that,  in  a  kindred  feeling, 

Raised  my  weak  soul  afar, 
Touching  my  darkness  with  a  light,  revealing 

What  heaven-claimed  spirits  are ; 

An  unseen  hand  upon  my  forehead  pressing, 

Once  nerved  to  childhood's  pain, 
And  'neath  the  shadowy  touch  of  that  caressing 

My  eyes  have  smiled  again. 
For  human  love,  in  ceaseless,  deep  outpouring, 

I  would  have  given, 
Take  all  of  pure  for  which  in  lonely  soaring 

My  soul  hath  striven. 

•  All  tones  of  pity,  from  the  chord  vibrating 

To  sorrowful  of  earth, 
All  visionings  of  good,  whose  shadowy  waiting, 

Attests  the  soul's  high  birth. 
Lost  Mother,  when,  this  earthly  shore  receding, 

I  view  the  mystic  sea, 
Come,  as  in  early  dreams  of  passionate  needing, 

To  clasp  and  welcome  me. 


The  Wishing  Gate. 


I   READ,  with  a  half  smile,  that  Eastern  story 
Of  wistful  seekers,  gathered  at  the  Gate, 
Ere  yet  the  sun  shed  his  last  parting  glory, 
Waiting  to  wrest  a  cherished  boon  from  Fate. 

I  saw  the  gay  array,  strange,  dusky  faces, 

The  patient  camels  in  that  shimmering  glow; 

Through  that  old  archway,  traced  with  rich  devices, 
The  faint,  dry  breeze  goes  softly  to  and  fro. 

The  legendary  gate  grows  closer,  nearer  — 

My  smile  is  gone;    linked  with  that  distant  race 

By  subtile  feeling,  inner  vision  clearer, 

Holds  fast  the  outline  of  that  sunlit  place. 

For  still  our  souls  stand  daily,  lingering,  needing, 
Unguessable,  unconscious,  each  to  each, 

While  still  our  heavenly  gate,  so  near,  unheeding, 
We  miss  the  gift  these  years  were  lent  to  reach  ! 

223 


Dying. 


WHATEVER  frailties  bar  me  from  full  sight, 
Father  above,  of  Thee, 
Pour  down  a  flood  of  Thy  diviner  light, 
That  I,  Thy  child,  may  see. 

Give  me  deep  Faith,  that  neither  Life  nor  Death 
Can  break.     Make  Thou  complete 

All  missing  links  of  love ;  with  wavering  breath, 
I  draw  me  to  Thy  feet ! 

Oh,  waiting  Love,  that  yearns  to  give  me  place, 

That  will  not  be  denied, 
Enfold  my  weakness  in  Thy  strong  embrace, 

Till  Heaven  shall  open  wide. 

Shall  open,  Loved  and  Lost,  in  clearer  sight 

Than  earthly  eyes  can  know ; 
Hold  fast  my  hand,  and  make  this  gateway  light, 

As  home  to  Thee  I  go  ! 

224 

THE    END. 


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